


Turning Tricks

by renee_descartes, writtenFIRES



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (sort of), Demonstuck, Incest, M/M, Minor Jade Harley/Dave Strider, Minor Jake English/Dirk Strider, Other, Smut, Succubi & Incubi, Tricksters, does contain minor stridercest, each chapter has specific trigger warnings at the beginning, its a johndave fic the other stuff is just mentioned a lot, john is not as stupidly ooc as he appears i promise, minor dave strider/other male character, minor dirk strider/dave strider - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:10:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3977524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renee_descartes/pseuds/renee_descartes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenFIRES/pseuds/writtenFIRES
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You'd think, given that incubi and tricksters are both treated like shit by the rest of the magical world, that they would get along. That's not what happens.<br/>Wherein Dave Strider is a slut, John Egbert is an asshole, Dirk Strider is the villain of the story and demons are more human than originally thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Deceitful Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Guess who's back, back again._ This time with Ani, who I've been rping with for a while, who is a wonderful John but an even better Dirk (I swear I'll write a stridercest fic someday). So many thanks to her and to Loren for beta-ing again.  
>  This chapter contains: flippant mention/threat of rape, mild violence, (safe+sane) drinking.

Your name is Dave Strider but who even gives a single shit right now? Who fucking cares about anything except how cripplingly hungry you are; holy shit do you need to eat. You are the biggest idiot ever for putting this off for so long, but there were always better things to be doing than eating: playing music, talking to Rose, watching _The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills_...You’re usually just too busy to pencil in the time it takes to hunt down a good meal until you’re desperate. Hence why you’re at a bar, even though you sort of hate the taste of alcoholic blood; it's the easiest to score. You're almost ravenous enough to stop giving a shit and just grab someone and pull them into an alley, but a full grown man dragging some hapless drunk out of a bar might raise some eyebrows. Also, you considered rape below you when you could absolutely convince someone to come with you of their own free will if you only tried for half an hour. 

Following the insistent demands of your hunger found you in the first bar you passed, not even hesitating long enough to catch the name on the sign. Instead of hunting down a menu, you survey the people around you. There are a few young girls laughing way too loud in one of the booths; some men playing billiards, shot glasses lined up on the counter behind them in impressive rows; and out of all the people you should probably be going for because they're drunk and easy, you sidle up on the bar stool next to what is probably the hottest guy here (before you walked in). Dark hair, blue eyes, hot damn. You'd be swooning, if that was a thing you did. "Don't suppose you're waiting for someone?"

He seems curious, judging by the happily wide-eyed thing he’s got going on. Perfect. "Huh? Oh, no. I'm just... sitting here. By myself. Haha, pretty lame, I know." He smiles and fingers his glass, drinking in your coolkid shades, nice outfit and messy hair because you for once could not be bothered to fix it.  

You’re pretty proud of your looks, and honestly you should be. You are a venus flytrap; everything about you draws people in. It's how you were designed. You pretend to look taken aback, leaning forward slightly in fake surprise. “Shit, that’s just a crime." You casually rest your elbows on the bar and give him another once-over. Sure, he couldn't see your eyes move, but from your hesitation (and from how he slightly straightened his posture) you knew he pieced together what was going on. "What kinda name does a pretty boy like you come with?” Your accent slips out with you, low and subtle. You don’t miss how his eyes brighten slightly when the sounds hits his hears. Huh. It’s a shame you can’t take your time with this one, but you’re looking to get this over with as soon as possible.

Being an incubus, you live on a staple diet of energy, coming from either sex or blood (the chocolate wrappers constantly covering your bedside table are just a bad habit). You'd go for either right now, but both leave you needing to get somebody alone, what since you're not looking to repeat that time you got tazed in an alleyway. 

The kid in front of you just might promise you either. You watch as he takes a sip of what is definitely some girly fruity beverage, his cheeks flushed even more now. “Um, John. It’s John. Ah, what about you?” He reads so textbook coy that you might be suspicious if you weren't so desperate. You just hope he’s not shy where it counts. Given that he’s at a bar alone and keeps glancing at you, he’s _definitely_ not straight but he might tell you to take him to dinner first and then where would you be?

Still eating him for dinner, probably. Just...less tastefully.

You lick at the salt covering the rim of your own glass, trying to get a feel for him. Needless to say, you’re _good_ with people. “Dave.” You’re tempted to keep smooth talking as it tends to be a surefire way of getting laid, but...he’s something interesting. Maybe something interesting to appreciate- something you’ve been wanting to try for a while, just because it’s _so dumb_. “You know, you look like someone who’d be good at math. I just saw the sweetest model of a quadratic curve.” You point over his shoulder, and he takes the bait.

He stands up a little, pushing on the counter to get a better look behind him, and it’s just too easy. “Like a parabola?” It feels kind of like he’s just humoring you, but it’s still victory. “Really? Where? I mean, that’s pretty hard to obtain in real life, so…”

“Right here, of course.” If you infuse your voice with a little magic, well, you have in fact gotten slapped for this. Not often, but once or twice.

“What-” You ghost your hand over his ass for a moment, smirking less out of suavity and more out of genuine amusement that your awful pick up line worked; at a trick well-played. “Perfect curve, if I do say so myself.”

He jumps from having your hand on his ass then whirls on you, brows furrowed and face red. “Hey! That was- you-” He splutters, but luckily does not slap you. Instead, he shoves your chest and drops back to his seat huffily, downing what remains of his drink. You hold your hands up and sit as well, unable to keep the smile completely off your face until you take a sip of your own almost lukewarm beverage.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll keep my hands to myself for now.” You probably shouldn’t have done that, yeah, but it was totally worth it. You consider it a win.

He rolls his eyes and sets some money down; shit. Looks like he’s getting ready to leave. “Yeah, right.” He sounds at least a little amused. “I’ll believe that when I see it. These goods aren’t free,” and then he winks at you, and your dread melts into victory. _Yes._ Fucking finally, you have won the hottie lottery. Obama better give you a damn medal for being this smooth. “Do you even know what a quadratic curve is or did you get that one off the internet, Mr. Sass Grab?”

“Yes, I do in fact know tenth grade algebra. I might have fake boobs, but I have a _brain._ ” You figure a blonde joke is in order. Your stomach reminds you to hurry the fuck up, leaving your teeth to start poking out of your gums. Not good. You debate for all of a second if he’s worth it when there’s infinitely easier prey around (he's not) and then you give him a few more minutes anyways; you’ve already invested so much time in him, after all.

John pointedly looks at your flat chest. "Yeah, well, I think you need to fire your plastic surgeon. Unless you were going for the girl scout look?"

"How else am I going to get people to buy my delicious cookies?" He snorts and you laugh with him, despite the fact that that wasn't even close to innuendo. 

You're calculating ways to use his inebriation in your favor when he tries to playfully elbow you and ends up hitting your drink, sending it spilling across your lap. Your hands go up quick out of reflex before you set what’s let of your drink on the bar. "Shit-! Oh, shit, I'm sorry!"

“Fuck, careful- you know, there are a lot of easier ways to get me out of these.” You’re not even flirting now, just slightly irritated. You have actually had people do that on purpose to get you to take your shirt off, but- fuck, you hate the feeling of cold alcohol on your best day and now it’s on your _dick_ , lord in hell. You have to go change, now, meaning this entire venture was worthless and you’re going to end up cornering someone in an alleyway after all. _Eugh_.

He looks suitably guilty, making you think maybe this has happened before. There's always something, with the hot ones. “Ha, right. Er, look, I’m really sorry! I get kind’ve- clumsy- when I drink a lot, uh...You know, my apartment is just a block or two down the street. You could wash up there and maybe I could, um, make it up to you? This place is getting crowded, anyway.”  He puts down more money, you guess to pay for your drink.

The prospect of finally getting what you want is the only reason you don’t instantly stand up and leave. It’s a good thing he asks you to his place, too- you don’t bring meals to your apartment, ever. Your demonic wiles don’t always work, and the people who snap out of it are usually the ones who want to kill you. Fucking hunters.

You down the last of your drink and get off your barstool, mood pretty much ruined. If you weren’t starving, you wouldn’t be here. “Yeah, alright. Lead the way.”

He sways when he stands, presses his hands to your shoulders to steady himself. His eyes are so blue they look like they’re glowing, and if you weren’t so annoyed they might have been beautiful. Maybe he feels like you need cheering up, because he takes a beat too long to push away, and when he does it’s a slow, fluid move. “U-um, right, yeah. Just follow me.” He gropes your ass in return when he passes, shooting you a ‘come hither’ glance as he walks away. As if you need convincing.

“Who’s Mr. Sass Grab now?” You’re mostly muttering to yourself in the loudness of the club, eyes focusing on his butt because he is swaying it way more than what could pass as accidental, and if he’s inviting you to stare at him then fuck yeah, you’re going to take him up on it. He really is pretty, but you're remembering now that pretty usually comes with it's fair share of drawbacks, and you shouldn't have gone straight for the best. Too late now.

The door very nearly smacks you on your way out, except you have better reflexes than that. It’s more disgruntling than anything, but it makes you realize you should probably chill out. Him being clumsy and slow is no reason to get huffy, so you take a deep breath and shoot for a lighter tone. “Been living here long?”

He shoves his hand in his pockets and you mirror him. “Oh yeah, around a millenia. Give or take a century.” His grin is a little smug for the circumstances, but whatever.

You actually chuckle a little at the irony. Not that you’ve lived _here_ that long- god no, this town is so trashy- but you’ve spent centuries in the similarly shitty land of Texas. “I’d have to say the same about Texas. Somehow, despite the racists and the NRA, I could spend eons there.”

“Eons? If Texas is so shitty and you’re so willing, then what does that say about you?” It appears you’ve reached your destination when he suddenly does a ninety degree turn to stumble up some steps.

“That I value my family?” You should go visit soon; it’s been awhile since you’ve been able to personally rub Dirk’s face into the dirt. You watch as he scours his pockets, slowly looking more and more nervous and then horrified.

“Uh…” You feel like if there was ever a time to hit yourself in the face, it would be now. He doesn’t have his keys.

It pretty much makes you deflate- fuck, you just want to eat, is that so much to ask? “Well, we could always do it out here.” Your tone is flat, but you’re entirely serious. When it comes down to it, you’re not above a lot of things- rape, public nudity, etc.

He glances back at you and grins sheepishly. “Wh-what? Haha, no way! I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, and uh..they must be on me somewhere, just…”

Something tells you he’s not going to find his keys. Okay, time to move on. You step up, crowd him back against the railing. “Are you sure? It could be fun.” You start exuding a _lot_ of magic, willing him to  _relax, let me, come on._ You set your hands on his hips, kiss his jawline, hope he’ll just relax and let the magic work. It should, but you never know. If he starts screaming you are going to fucking hit him, courtesy or not.

“I-” He grunts softly. “Ah-” And then he jerks his head forward, giggling, and jams his chin into your cheek bone.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” you flinch back, rubbing at your face. You both hiss in pain and that's it, you are going to fucking hit him. You are going to punch him right in his stupid bucked teeth and then you are going to suck his brains out through his dick, _literally_. You have managed to kill people via the best orgasm of their life before.  You were _so_ fucking close. You could _taste_ his arousal, less tangy than most people and more like espresso. Like magic, which is more than a little suspicious.

Before you can attack him, though, he bursts out “W-wait, wait- aha! I found them! Haha..ha…”

You try not to scowl. “Yay.” He gives you the same guilty smile and apologizes again, finally unlocking the door and leading you up several quiet flights of stairs.

Once you’re inside, he tosses his keys on the counter and faces you. “So, uh, here it is. Home sweet home. The bathroom is right down the hall if you wanna wash up while I see if I have any spare pants you can borrow…”

If you smile, you’re going to show off the fucking incisors currently trying to cut your own mouth open. “I’m good.” The more desperate you get, the closer you get to your actual form, your body trying to soak up any energy you can get. You swear to yourself that you’re never going to wait this long again; you are such a goddamn idiot. You push your glasses up into your hair, red eyes piercing from the foot or so between the two of you. _Come on. Let me. You want this._ All you need is for him to falter once, and you’re in, and you can finally get what you came here for. “Why put it off any longer?”

“Are you sure?” He looks at you and freezes, though, and you fucking have him. You watch him gulp and clutch at the counter behind him, and then his leg jerks- you don’t really notice until you trip over the rug that just _moved under your feet._

Just like that he laughs nervously, “Haha, y’know what, I actually gotta go drain the hose so if you just wanna wait here…” and disappears down the hallway. God. Fucking. Damn it. This is the single most frustrating human you have ever met, and your fucking magic isn’t working on him, so he’s probably either a hunter or inhuman entirely, neither of which you want to fucking deal with. Is this even worth it? If you wait much longer your face is going to start looking weird. You stay in the parlor, though, arms crossed and trying to get a hold of your features.

He comes back smiling brightly, with a pair of what’s probably sweatpants in hand. “Sorry if I kept you waiting out here! I, uh, figured I’d grab you some pants anyway, in case you still wanted to change.” You just glare at him for a second, then take your shades off completely to hang them from your shirt collar.

Then you shove him against the nearest wall, inhumanely fast and maybe a _little_ harder than you should. You’re pretty damn frustrated, okay. He grunts slightly in pain but you pour all your magic out even though you’re not sure it will do anything at this point, pushing close until your entire bodies are lined up and pressed together. You brush your lips over his neck wetly, _let me. Let me._ “I really don’t think pants are necessary at this point,” you mutter against his skin, curling your fingers around his hips. You hear a hint of a moan when he breathes, before his posture suddenly shifts in a way you really couldn’t describe.

He curls his hands over your shoulders and whispers in your ear, breathy and giggly: _“Heh, whatever you say, Mr. Incubus.”_

You could taste the sex on him and it’s _so good_ but you freeze out of self preservation. You have to back up a bit so you can press your hands to his shoulders in return, keeping him there. Outside of your control, your face just- twitches until your whole face is different; features getting sharper and dangerous but too alluring for the biological alarms that you tend to set off to _really_ process. Usually, by the time anyone sees this face, they’re too out of their minds with pleasure to say anything. He grins even wider at you, until his whole face looks wrong as well. “You- You know what? I don’t even care what you are at this point, just _shut up and let me suck your dick._ ”

Either he’s not human or he’s going to try to stab you; in the latter case, his life is about to get a lot more painful and then a lot shorter. After a moment, he tilts his head and shifts into a more serene smile, patting your cheek like you’re a child. “Haha, y’know, usually it would be _me_ telling _you_ to shut up and suck my dick. At least, that’s how it always works in the pornos. Is that where you got those cheesy pick up lines from? That quadratic one was pretty clever, I guess, but I was mostly humoring you, dickmonger.” He loses all traces of the innocent, clumsy guy he was, instead insulting you conversationally and letting all of his stupid smugness out.

Consider you pissed off. You press your lips against his just to shut him up, hard and _dirty_ for all of a few moments, biting and licking at his lips. He barely reciprocates, of course. Asshole. It really gets you curious, though, and so you finally just- break the kiss, for one. You’re already pressed back into him, it’s about time that you kiss his shoulder; deceivingly soft until you quite literally sink your teeth into him.

Human blood has a very specific taste, see- especially when something’s added to it. Like blood, yeah, but also like...purity, you guess. Strong, pure energy. The taste of what is on your tongue is unmistakable; buzzing, like dark chocolate and home (if one ever refers to a literal inferno of suffering as _home_ ). That’s all demon. You moan, though, because you can finally taste _energy_ , sucking hard on the meat between your teeth to get more.

After maybe a few seconds, he shoves a _clawed_ hand against the side of your face. “Hey! I earned that negative energy fair and square from your pissy face, so lay off, you demonic bicycle!” When you’re pushed off, you can finally see that his features were drawn out as well. His eyes are fucking glowing for real, this time. You're feeling a lot better already, but you’re not nearly done, and all of this is just making you remember that you hate demons. All of them (you included) are complete insufferable assholes.

You echo his growling and press your claws against his neck. Once his words register, well, _of course_. “You want anger? I am going to feed off of you, and then I am going to saw your dick off with my incisors. Does that sound _appetizing_ to you, you _useless_ piss-drinking shit-stain of a demon?” You can’t really stop yourself from swiping a finger over where his neck is still bleeding and sucking the blood off, calming down a tad at the taste. Really, it’s just that you are ravenous and he is _fucking_ annoying. For a reason, apparently. You’re not sure how you didn't see it sooner, given all the shenanigans and tricks he played. Your pants are still fucking wet.

For a second you can see that he’s angry, and then it clears right up and he laughs right in your face. It sounds fucking insane, for one, and then he walks two fingers up your arm like you’re not subtly threatening to tear his jugular with the very appendage. “Your bitching and moaning tastes _incredible_ , by the way. Keep it up, tiger. C’mon, you want my sexual energy?” He flicks one of your long, pointy ears, making you twitch all over- a _perfectly_ normal response because your species are particularly fucking sensitive there and it feels weird and almost arousing at the same time. He laughs again. “ _Show me what you’ve got, lust for brains._ ”

You don’t drop to your knees like he’s probably expecting. No, instead you shove him even harder against the wall (the fucking plaster cracks and he hisses) and remove your claws from his throat to bite him again, interrupting him- “Hey! I’m still renting this place, you knOW-” Like you've said, you’re perfectly fine with just _taking_ this from him, especially because he clearly deserves it.

He snarls at you, seemingly unhappy that you won’t let him bat you around anymore. The next thing you feel is his fingers pinching your ear tips hard enough to make you flinch (probably tearing his wound worse) and then there’s a snap and _holy fucking shit your ears are on fire_. You don’t know if tricksters can feed off of outright panic, but if so, he must be getting a fucking feast. Once you pull your teeth out of his shoulder you take several steps away, swearing and rubbing at your ears. He cackles the entire time, but for you it’s agony, and it takes you upward of a minute to realize that 1) the pain is not going away and 2) your hands are not burning so 3) you’re not on fire.

Of course, once you realize it’s not real the illusion wears off, leaving you to glare at him. He has to wipe a fucking tear from his eye and you want to murder him but finally you think, _fuck this_. You’ve eaten enough not to die tonight, so you have no reason to stick around.

First, you punch him in his smug goddamn face.

He hits the wall a third time and slides down it, half-shouting from pain. It’s so _satisfying_. It’s totally going to fucking bruise, at least for a few hours. He snarls at you, “Oh, _real_ classy. What’s next? You gonna throw me through a wall because I made your ears burn?”

There is no next move, though. You spend all of a microsecond pondering his wary face, because you never really took time to appreciate it, before. You should’ve noticed how bright his eyes are. His demonic face works so much better for him than ‘innocent human’ ever could, but he’s a damn good actor. Having committed it to memory, you throw him the bird and get the fuck out of dodge; flashstepping entire blocks away before you realize you shouldn’t use up what energy you have. You’re going to need to feed again, like, tomorrow, but at least you’re not going to die. Your home isn't too far away, but you spend the entire time brooding about that stupid fucking

Behind you, a trickster laughs. “Run, incubus, run!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ani's Notes: Loren and I will kick her ass into gear for writing a Stridercest fic soon enough.


	2. Deal With the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, canonically, all Harleyberts are Mediterranean in this; John's face and tattoo are based off of [this wonderful picture](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/95961979324/because-who-likes-an-overly-sexified-john-egbert) by Wolf Painters. The Striders, however, can be literally whatever you headcanon, because historically they were born in a time when immigrants were just being allowed to move to Texas.  
> This chapter contains: gross description of sex, graphic violence, decent description of sex, (temporary) major character death

You end up going out again the next night, and it goes _perfectly_. You find some horny girl at one of your favorite nightclubs (favorite because it’s trashy, not because it’s good), and she falls for your charms easily. Because you’re a classy motherfucker, you eat her out in a deserted alleyway. She _reeks_ of sex and you’re already full; at this point you’re just waiting for the big finish before you leave her to pass out alone. Maybe you’ll even fuck around with her head before you go.

“Dave! Hey, _there_ you are! Geez, dude, if you were hungry all you had to do was say so. We could’ve gotten sushi or something.” You almost audibly groan. You have to pour out more magic to keep the girl from saying anything about it and she moans, which is really just embarrassing. You don’t bother giving him the time of day, just continue what you’re doing. Hope he likes a show; it’s kind of nasty, to be honest. You’re making telling wet noises and she sounds like she’s trying out for Best Actress in a Porno.

Ignoring him, of course, just makes him try harder. He crouches next to you and flicks your ear, making you twitch all over. “Greedy fucker, aren’t you? Or maybe you just really like sucking on people. Maybe you should’ve been a vampire instead!”  Fuck him, you’re not giving him what he wants. The girl you are currently tongue-deep in is like thirty seconds from coming and then you can _leave_. The trickster pokes your cheek. “Sounds like she’s really enjoying herself. Almost makes me regret turning you off so bad last night. Bet your mouth’s really good at this sort of thing. Guess you could even go so far as to say if you suck at everything long enough, pretty soon you just wind up an expert at sucking.”

Finally, you pull yourself away from her and switch to your fingers, wiping your mouth off on your elbow (ew). “What can I say? Used to suck so hard on my mama’s tits she put me in Catholic school. They tried to pull the devil out of me before he was even balls-deep.”

John smirks. “And now look at you, eating some stranger out in a back alley for free. Man, the prostitutes on the corner are gonna get upset.” And then he fucking reaches up and starts tickling your meal, making her giggle and squirm; all the while staring you in the eyes.

You’re clearly not going to get anything done while he’s here, so you finally give up and then wipe one of your hands on his cheek, smirking in return. He scrunches his face up like he’s disgusted and the girl whines something; you don’t listen, just get to your feet and touch your fingers to her temple, sending her crashing to the ground. She’s going to have some pretty nasty dreams. “The fuck do you want, clownshit?”

When he stands, he wipes his face across your shoulder like you’re a couple of kids fighting. It doesn’t really bother you, mostly because you were expecting it. “Hey, just because you don’t mind practically bathing in spunk, don’t think that’s a general pastime for all demons. Now your irritation, there’s something I could moisturize with every damn day.” He grins at you, and it would be charming if you didn’t already know what a prick he is. He dares to lean his elbow on your shoulder, sing-songing right in your ear, “But I didn’t track you across town to tease you for being a trashy harlot. _I’ve_ got a proposition for you, incubus.”

You're determined to keep calm in the pursuit of annoying him into leaving you alone. Doesn’t stop you from jabbing your fingers into his side, making him jolt from surprise and subsequently get off of you. “Unless it involves you getting fucked with a cactus, _I_ am not interested.”

He shoots you an expression that screams ‘not amused’. It’s fantastic. “Yeah, I bet you’ve experienced that before, being a sex demon and all. I’ll leave it to the experts.”

You wipe your hands off on your shirt because it’s already nasty, then take a second to rub your face- when you’re done, your sclerae are white instead of black and your features are completely harmless, until all you have to do is slip your shades out of your pocket and onto your face. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a million better things to be doing than talking to you.”

He grins at you and switches to resting his hands atop your shoulder, chin above that until your faces are uncomfortable close. “Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that! I haven’t chatted up an incubus in at least a century. Y’know, your demonic features are a major improvement over this shitty disguise you’ve got going on. And what’s even with the shades? You know you can change your eye color, right?”

You push him off you again, this time taking several steps back so he can’t keep doing that. The girl at your feet moans in pain before you can reply- it distracts you for a second, leaving you looking at her. “I did change them. Not that it’s any of your business, but these are my old eyes.”

He nudges the unconscious girl with his foot. “Sentimental sorta demon, huh? Cute.”

“Seriously, that list of a million things just keeps getting longer.” You shouldn’t have said anything about your eyes, really. You can’t even stop yourself from getting annoyed anymore. If you had met him when you were human, you would have hit him in the face with a brick. Still probably would, actually, if there was a brick around.

“Okay, mister impatience, why don’t you hear me out at least? C’mon, demons make deals like this all the time. It’s practically what we’re founded on.”

“Then make an offer already, asshat.”

He gives you that stupid serene smile again. “Wellll, since you asked _so_ nicely.” You inspect the ground at your feet. One of the bricks in the wall next to you looks kind of loose. “Last night’s interactions made me pretty damn sated. I mean wow, I haven’t been that satisfied by a demon in decades. I won’t need to feed again for like a week. In terms you’d understand, I’m impressed. And interested. In you. I dunno how much you know about tricksters, but that sorta means I’m stuck to you for a while now. Think leeches, but with snarky jabs instead of teeth.” He even makes these stupid fangs with his fingers and laughs gratingly. “Anyways, you really seemed to enjoy feeding off me too. Not that I’m eager to dole out my blood like a damn bank, but...I figure if I’m going to be annoying the shit out of you anyways, it could be mutually profitable, if you catch my meaning?”

“Right. So, what’s it going to take to make you, I dunno, _not_ do that? Move to Antarctica? I could do that, I like penguins.” Okay, so that’s a complete and total bluff, but more in the realm that you fucking hate the cold than the fact that you’re unwilling to go long distances if it means you never see his ugly face again. He laughs.

“Yeah, obviously you haven’t dealt with a lot of tricksters, ‘cause dude, we are almost impossible to deter when we’ve locked onto a target. Trust me. I have driven dozens of humans to suicide and a couple demons back down to hell.” He shrugs carelessly. You start discretely prying at the brick with your talons. “I’d probably just follow you, really. I’m good at that. Tricksters kinda put the ‘stalk’ in ‘stalker’, hahaha.”

And really, that sounds too much like a challenge for you to resist. You _love_ challenges, have done all number of stupid things in the name of proving some asshole wrong (usually your brother). That’s actually the fucking reason you died, so. You raise your eyebrows at him and smirk. “Yeah? Have fun with that.”

“Wait-” And then you’re _gone_ , one, two, four blocks away, all the way back to your apartment, using up a fair amount of energy but it’s totally worth it. There’s no way he’ll be able to follow you; in your entire life, you’ve only know one person who’s faster than you.

* * *

You stay in your apartment for a week and a half. Sadly, this isn’t exactly unusual for you; you used to be more into partying and the nightlife, but you’re just not up for it lately. You have friends (two) that you text a lot, so it’s not like you’re lonely, and you watch a lot of stupid movies and make a lot of music. It’s nice, except after a week you’re low on energy; after that, you’re just starving yourself. Sure, you’re probably just putting off the inevitable, but you are in fact a stubborn little shit.

Currently, you’re rocking out with your headphones loud enough they’d render you deaf if you were human. You just want to distract yourself from your gnawing hunger and, most likely, impending mental breakdown, so you nod your head along with the music and mix some beats. No one comes to visit you, so you’re rocking full on fucking demon looks, tail and all. And then clawed hands drop onto your shoulders.

You flinch pretty violently seeing as you thought you were alone in your apartment. Of course you swivel around to see a full blown trickster _in your face_ \- swirling blue eyes without sclera or pupils being the most notable feature. Not bad. “I’ve seen worse.” Despite your blase-ness, though, you’re pretty fucking tense as you slip your headphones around your neck, poking him in the chest so maybe he’ll get off of you. Dude has fucking personal space issues. You would just ignore him again, but you _really_ do not want him in your apartment. “Took you long enough. Week and a half? I was seriously considering throwing you a hint out of pity, maybe leave a little trail of neon paint.”

He huffs and brushes his thumb across his nose and his features flow back to normal. He does get off you, but only to hold onto the table behind you, almost even more in your space. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I had a city to scour and took a lunch break a few days ago; not that the human I fed off of filled me up half as good as you,” he purrs. “What about you? Eaten any drunk girls out lately? Or have you really holed yourself up in here out of desperation to lose me? I’m flattered, if that’s the case.”

You’re reminded of your first impression of him when he smirks at you; the hottest guy in the entire bar, blue eyes shining, muscles to die for. He’s still hot; it’s just that now, he’s deplorable. The reasonable thing to do in this situation, obviously, is to lean forward and nuzzle his neck. You purr right back, “What do you think?” If he could see your eyes, you would know; you can get a little crazy when you haven’t fed. Which is why, hopefully having lowered his guard a bit, you bite his chin as hard as you can. It’s not like you can really sink your teeth in, but you imagine it’s going to hurt anyways.

“I-” He cuts himself off with a pained growl. You pull back and wipe the blood off your face while his scowl turns into an amused grin, then he jerks his neck and headbutts you. “I think you’re a sneaky little slut.” And then you hear the sound of metal being scratched.

 _Fuck_. You shove him hard to get him off of you, not really paying attention to his comment; instead, you rub your head and turn back around to check on your equipment. Nothing damaged but the vinyls you were playing with, thank the lord in hell. You half turn to throw at him, “Okay, I don’t give a shit _what_ you want you piece of shit, we are _not_ doing this in my apartment. Get the fuck out. Shoo.” You even make little shooing motions with your hands when you turn back fully to glare at him.

You find him rubbing his chin, still smirking. “Aww, did I damage your property? Sooorryyy.” You watch him roll his eyes and then sidle up to you again, and you swat his hand away when he tries to pinch your nose. “No. No, I don’t think I will. My deal is still on the table, incubus. I can tell you’re starving. I’m a little hungry myself so why don’t we just make this easier on the both of us?”

You really should have just brained him with a brick when you had the chance.

“Fine. You want an official fucking deal? Don’t come here anymore. _And_ you’re not allowed to touch my ears, asshole.” Fuck him. Literally; you can smell him and once again, you are so hungry that it’s driving you closer to the tip top of the crazy pyramid.

He looks you over. “Hmm...nnaaaah, gonna have to decline. That’s not really in my favor at all. But I mean, hey, if you don’t want me touching your ears anymore there’s always...alternatives…” In one swift motion he grabs your tail near the base and jerks his hand over the down covering it until it slides right off the tip.

The thing is, your ears can take a lot more abuse than your tail. Sure, they’re both sensitive and can act as erogenous zones, but your ears are pretty much always a better bet. So while he’s laughing because, “Haha holy shit, it’s like a feather duster coming out of your ass!”, you react something like a cat puffing up all over, instinctively flashstepping all the way across your room and shuddering. You disappear your tail pretty damn quick after that, while your features do the opposite and get even more feral. You hiss in- okay, that’s not even English, whoops.

The trickster hops over your turntables to sit closer to you on the table, kicking his feet. “Mmm, yeah, talk Latin to me. Haha, damn, I really _ruffled your feathers_ , huh? Maybe you should take some deep breaths. Swallow a chill pill. It’s not like I’m attacking you or anything.” And then he asks you something rude in Latin about if you have feathers in other places, too.

You give him another couple of moments of being glared at, haunches firmly up, before you relax a little. Rubbing a hand over your face is soothing, and helps you shift your features back to mostly human. Your fucking tail feels weird even though it’s not manifested, which really just makes the whole feeling stranger. _Fucking_ tricksters. “You got what you wanted. Leave.”

He keeps tapping his claws against the vinyl behind him- if he breaks another one of your records you’re going to throw him out the goddamn window. “Did I? Someone hasn’t been paying attention~!” He fucking sing-songs. “Yeah, I definitely got a stomach full of energy, but that’s not exactly what I tracked you down for. It’s more like a bonus. _You_ know what I want, and I’m not gonna repeat myself.”

You take some time to consider how much you hate demons, and _really_ hate tricksters. Because there’s no resisting them, no fighting them. Everyone gives in eventually, including you. You’ve known that since the very beginning, but you don’t always have the willpower or humility to just _give in_. For once, though, you bite your goddamn tongue and accept your fate. “ _Fine._ Since you are clearly so fucking shitty in bed that you have to _annoy_ someone into touching your dick, fine.” You know the benefits, of course- at least that you don’t have to bother going hunting unless you want to anymore. Which, considering what you are, is a pretty fucking pathetic attitude. Incubi are supposed to be gluttons, and yet here you are.

He hops off your turntable, fucking- _skips_ a couple steps towards you, twirling like some fucking four year old prima ballerina, and then abruptly presses you into the wall. Personal. Space. Issues. His hands go to your hips, daringly close to your groin. “Yeah, it’s such a shame that not everyone’s such a huge tramp like you.” He nips at your chin and, well, it’s pretty nice. You’re famished, and he is really testing your self control; your hands are trembling a little. “If I were you, I would stop complaining. _I know what you want~_ ”

Of course, pride is one of the biggest sins. “Really? Because a homeless man with crabs is starting to sound more appetizing than this.” Lie through your teeth, that always works.

And then he _stops touching you_ and you should be happy but you really want him back here. “Well, if you _really_ feel up to going out and hunting one down, I won’t stop you.” He walks away and leans on your turntables again, shoving his ass towards you. And he says he’s not a tramp. “I’ll just wait here.”

For a moment you’re more angry about him being anywhere near your babies than you are turned on and desperate. You’re guessing he’s not expecting you to pull him back by his hair, but that’s what you do, making him hiss from elongated canines before you stifle it with a hard kiss, hands settling on his hips. His lips are chapped; you pretty much immediately work to fix that by teasing your tongue over them. He keeps you there with his hands behind your head, humming softly and nipping at your upper lip after you suck on his. You’re both getting kind of hot, though, and as a consequence your teeth clack together; you pull away, grimacing.

He says, “Not bad, heh,” and you ignore him, push on his shoulders until he sits on the floor and you can sit in his lap. The angle’s not the greatest as far as getting any friction on your dick, but it’s not like you need it- getting off, much like your chocolate stash, is more fun than it is necessary. From here, though, you can grind your ass against his crotch and he gasps and tugs on your hair. It’s _fantastic_. You keep expecting him to say something stupid, so his (relative) silence is a welcome surprise. You think his arousal _should_ taste nasty, given that teeth-rotting sugar and espressos generally don’t go together, but you fear you’re already getting addicted to it. Tricksters aren’t the only ones who pick frequent targets. It’s not enough, though, so after a couple minutes of making out and frotting, you back up off of him so you can pull his jeans open and then down, slipping your hand inside his underwear. You’re sure your hand is dry enough to be a little _unpleasant_ , which is why you smirk at him.

You can hear him digging his claws into the floor as you start stroking his dick and it really only ups your amusement. “Geez, y’know- nngh- maybe you should stop spinning those records. They seem to- ah- make your hands drier than old bones.” He exhales then waggles his brows like the class fucking act he is, looking pointedly at your own hard-on. “Speaking of bones…”

“Well, I _would_ offer to suck you off, but I do that for _everyone_ , remember, so this is really much more special.” Even more than the taste of his arousal, though, is the taste of _satisfaction_. You have _finally_ gotten a leg up on him, if the way he can barely snark at you is any indication. “Consider yourself unique.”

He keeps his stupid act up, but his face is all furrowed eyebrows and curiosity. “Aww, see our dealings as a special commitment already, huh? Damn. I should go ring shopping.”

Unlike him, you’re not a complete dickbag and so stop for a moment to lick your hand like a gentleman and subsequently realize your face went weird again. Whatever, always happens when you feed. For some god forsaken reason, he sees fit to comment again, laughing- “Resourceful. Or lazy. Anyways, do you flatter every demon you get off this much or am I really just that special? Maybe that’s why you use your mouth so much. So you don’t talk and embarrass yourself.”

Clearly, you’re not working fucking hard enough. You squeeze maybe a little too hard, feeling like you should remind him that your claws are millimeters from his touchy bits- he grunts and digs his claws further into your flooring. He's scratching up the carpet, the fucker. Well, who are you kidding; this apartment's a shit hole. Demons (or at least you) thrive in this sorta space. Not that it's that bad- there's no miles of trash or weird stains on the couch (okay, there are, but those are _your_ weird stains). It's just small and the lights are all shitty and nobody comes to bother you here, usually.  “You know what you need? Bedside manners. Don’t insult the dude getting you off, man, that’s just bad taste, and it's gonna end with you bleeding viciously from what _used_ to be your balls. That’s not even a threat, that’s advice from someone who could teach a class on this shit.” You totally should, too. Principals of Having Sex According to a Sex Demon- you’d be rich. 

He just keeps grinning at you. “You know what you need? Mmngh. To shut up and suck. Or stroke. Or- _fuck_ ,” he groans, and you smile. “Whatever manner of harvesting my sexual energy gets your rocks off. If you’re going to harvest from a tricksterr...hnngh… you’ll need to deal with the side effects or _make me shut up_.”

You grumble, “Yeah, well, your face is fucking ugly,” and listen to him start to pant. He’s right though, you should just get this over with already. So you focus on swirling your thumb over the leaking head of his dick, pull his shirt up some with your free hand so you can kiss over his naval. His head drops back with a soft exhale and he _finally_ shuts up. This is all amateur shit, to be honest; you’ve had missionary more fun than this, except for the fact that the trickster is actually pretty alluring. If his personality wasn’t so hard to stand, you would’ve been all over him _much_ sooner. It’s not even his personality, really, you can appreciate someone with his sense of humor. It’s just that he’s a _trickster_ and he’s better at it than any other trickster you’ve met before. Or, maybe, you have anger issues. You should probably ask Rose. Not right now, though- he’s kind of mesmerizing.

When you scrape your teeth over skin a little higher up his chest, you see the beginning of bright blue curlicues, some tattoo you’ve not seen because he always wears long sleeves _and_ finger less gloves. Paying a little less attention to him groaning above you and raising his hips up, you trace a finger over one, and with an almost violent hip jerk he shoots his release onto your hand. The noise he makes is a cross between a sharp, human keen and a feral snarl before he pulls his shirt back down, concealing the tattoo.

You lean up, back onto your knees before you see his expression and stop in your tracks. His pupils are slits, ears extended probably larger than yours are at max and you can see _all_ of his razor teeth, the way he’s panting. Something tells you there’s more to this than what you’re thinking, and that’s what keeps your mouth glued shut. It’s also what makes you move, ducking your head until you can’t meet his eyes- no idea why, just that your head is telling you _hey, don’t want to get eaten? Follow my lead!_ Your body changes, teeth and claws retracting until you’re all soft edges, ears smoothed down.

It takes a few moments before he quietly tucks his dick back into his pants and sits up. “All right, all right, don’t shit yourself or anything, I’m not going to tear your jugular out. It’s just… been a while, and I got over-excited. C’mon, look at me already.” Just like that, you’re both a lot calmer. Fucking instincts.

Heh, his ears are fucking huge. You don’t laugh, though, just settle back on your haunches -away from him- and try to make yourself look at him for longer than a glance. That’s embarrassing. “...Do you always do that when you come? Because if so, I really need to reconsider this.

He rolls his eyes, tail batting around on the floor. Your own snakes out without you really noticing. “No. Like I said, it’s been a while. Like a month, probably. Since I got off at all. So there was a lot of pent up shit that just let loose, and next time it’ll probably be more normal- hey!” You both tense up, you because something is _touching your tail_. You’re fully ready to disappear it right back to the land of the incorporeal, only you look down and- okay, that’s kind of cute. And hilarious. While John frowns at your tangle-up tails, you may or may not giggle, grinning wide. “Wow. Guess I really am irresistible.” Of course, your tail is just going right along with it- stupid fucking things, you barely know how to control it. apparently John can’t, either, so maybe that’s universal instead of just one of those things that you alone manage to fuck up.

“Or your tail is just incredibly fuzzy and fun to mess with. C’mon, let go of it. You’re gonna make a knot.” You watch him talk to his tail, covering your mouth so he can’t see the ridiculous face you’re making. He tries to pull it away, but the swirly blue disc at the end of it is resting against your thigh still.

It doesn’t occur to you that it’s sharp, and so you’re completely surprised when you touch it and it cuts your finger. “ _Shit_ , really?” You try to hold your bleeding hand still while you carefully pull your own tail away from John’s, realizing halfway through that you can just- get rid of it. Jesus, you’re both a couple of idiots. “Of course all your pretty bits are fucking little death machines, look at me being a dumbass,” you mumble to yourself.

John rolls his eyes at you. “ _Yeah,_ really. I’m still a demon. Just because it looks silly or cute doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous.” He holds out his hands, claws now retracted and looking like he’s just a little disbelieving at how stupid you are. “Give me your finger.”

“What? No.” No way in hell are you trusting him. Afterglow or not (you’re still half hard in your pants. Oh well.) he has never been _nice_ to you. There’s no reason he would start now. Instead, you lick up the little dripping trail of blood before it gets on your carpet and grimace while John looks up like he’s praying God will finally smite you both. Your blood, compared to that of others, tastes kind of like water does but with more copper. “Can you even do anything will blood? I thought only incubi drank it.” You don’t even try to hide how suspicious you are.

To be honest, you don’t know much about tricksters. You’ve met one or two; they fed on you until you got the hell out of dodge, little to no informative conversation involved. Hence why you believe him when he says, “We don’t drink blood. But if we cut you with our tails there’s side effects. They affect humans more but other demons aren’t immune to it. Basically makes you feel way too giddy for your own sanity. Only thing to stop it is our saliva, believe it or not. Don’t even bother asking me why. But hey, if you’re okay with going into a massive giggle fit and tearing up your apartment then be my guest.” It’s quite possible that your skin pales.

You finally hold out your hand, because _what’s the worst that could happen?_ (As you will no doubt later find out, that is the absolute worst thing to think around a trickster. It’s like they can fucking sense someone doubting their ability to be the biggest douchebag on the planet, and if they don’t immediately showcase that ability they will _die_ ). “This is why I fucking hate demons. Seriously, I’ve never met one that I’ve even remotely liked. They’re either complete douchebags, crazy, or in your case, both.” He takes your hand and slips his stupidly long tongue around your bleeding finger.

The way he fucking shivers seriously makes you think he was lying about tricksters not drinking blood, but you’re a little more concerned about how he smiles when he gives your finger back, allowing you to wipe his spit off on your jeans. “Thanks, I’m gonna take that as a compliment. While we’re on the topic of my crazy douchebaggery, I was totally lying about the sugar rush sickness. I can’t believe you actually believed me; that’s the oldest rumor in Hell!”

You stare at him for a moment, sigh, and rub your forehead. “What the fuck did you do.”

When you look up again, he’s got this stupid sly smile going for him. “Wouldn’t _you_ like to know~?”

“What did you do with my blood, shitdick? Am I gonna die now? Was that just harmless and this is all some asshole trick to piss me off?” You’d think he’d be full by now, unless he really is the cow he acts like and has three stomachs.

He rises up on his haunches like a predator, blue eyes gleaming. “I swallowed it, duh. Talk about a stupid question. I dunno. You might die. I mean, obviously me gulping down a teaspoon of your blood is a death sentence. As for that last one, do you even really need to ask at this point? Shit, you’re slower than I thought.”

You continue glaring as he talks before you finally just rise up off the floor, moving around him and back to your turntables. “Whatever. Thanks for the meal, you know where the door is.” You examine your damaged record- even with your weird taste and talent, it’s too scratched up to do anything with, so you toss it in the trash. You’ll just ignore him, and maybe he’ll leave. You cross the room, start rifling through your bookshelves for a different vinyl.

You definitely don’t notice that he stands up behind you as well, finally fastening his jeans back up. “Oh, you’re welcome. Buuut…” And then you’re not really sure what he does because you refuse to look at him, just that he moves somewhere closer to your couch. “I think I’m nice and comfy _right_ here.”

You’re not that stupid; even you can figure out that a surefire way to bother a trickster is to ignore him. You pick some bluegrass thing because why the fuck not, set it on your turntables and put your earphones back on (after turning them way down so they won’t kill your ears).

“Heads up!” You duck automatically and something sails above your head and shatters against the wall- one of your records. _Jesus._ Your blood boils a little, thinking that he fucked up _another_ vinyl. John cackles.

That’s it. You flashstep over to him, grab his hair with one hand and his shirt with the other, and start pulling him _hard_ towards the door. “You’ve reached the stage of our little play date typically called ‘overstaying your welcome’. Time to go, asswipe.” The demon in your grip yelps and stumbles after you before digging his claws the base of your turntables.

“You can kick me out but I’ll just find another way in,” he sneers, but this time it’s you challenging him: your face changes until you look half-feral and you think you can feel feathers at your throat.

You _snarl_ , “Get your hands. Off. My turntables.” Everything in you is telling you to tear his throat out, but the still-sane parts of your brain are worried about your equipment. He stares at you coolly.

“...Fine.” He fucking drags his claws as he pulls away from it, digging grooves into the metal.

Your ears push back like a snarling cat, and you haven’t been this unmasked in a long time; no idea if you’re far enough that flowers are poking out of the collar of your v-neck. You make some inhuman noise in the back of your throat and slash your talons over the side of his face. He ducks his head back, but you still scour four deep lines of red from his cheekbone to his chin. He hisses and strikes back, clawing at your chest, through your ruff.

You look down and just like that, you’re out of death mode. Because among the cuts and ripped feathers, there are indeed a couple of orange flowers; one of which is torn to bits. Fuck. You should be glad, but all you can think is _I didn’t want to KILL him._ Make him bleed a little, sure, but...

John jumps back to crouch low on the ground, eyeing you warily. When he apparently decides you’re not going to hurt him again, he scrubs at the blood on his face and you blurt, “That’s going to make it worse-” Really, there’s no hope though. Once he touches it, he’s fucked.

He blinks at his hand for an idiot, drops to his ass. “What the f…. _what did you do._ ”

You shrug. “I didn’t do shit.” He has the gall to immediately growl at you.

“ _You know what I mean._ ”

Bending to pick up one of the fallen petals torn off your chest, you hold it up for him. “Covered in poison. Sorry, dude, you’re fucked.” You’d think he’d know better, since as far as you’ve been told, barely any sex demons _don’t_ have some kind of poison defense. Next, everything’s going to get weird and bright and fuzzy for him, and then he’ll die. You’ve been in fights where this was the only thing that saved your ass.

He sighs and rubs at his eyes. “Of course you’d have poisonous flowers…”

You still feel kind of shitty. Hell is an awful place to be, and you don’t know how long he’ll be stuck down there. Still, he brought it on himself. “You’ve got about an hour, maybe less. I’d suggest you get it over with before the hallucinations start.”

You think he’s just talking at himself by this point. “I hate poison. It’s so unfair. Never a good way to combat it, always find out about it too late. Ugh, this is the eleventh century all over again, except that asshole had the courtesy to tear my throat out halfway through.” The _eleventh_ century? Jesus, how old is he?

His eyes start looking like a swirling pool of different shades of blue, and you take pity. You don’t know of any cure, aren’t sure there isn’t even one. So you crawl forward, “Consider this a mercy, then,” and swipe your claws across his throat as cleanly as you can. Then you get to watch him bleed out all over your floor, quickly reverting to his frankly fucking terrifying full demonic self. You end up getting to your feet to get a few feet away from him, not liking this. See, most demons can’t just _die_. You, for one, turn into a giant poisonous pile of flowers. The nervousness is completely fucking justified, because a minute later you hear sizzling like fireworks being lit. You still flinch hard when his body _explodes_ , and when you open your eyes, everything’s covered in neon sugar and confetti.

Fucking. Tricksters.


	3. Animal Farm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is actually pretty okay

You spend a week mildly paranoid. You have no idea when John will be back; could be anywhere from a couple days to years. You don’t want him to surprise you when he does, what since it’s your fault he’s stuck down there and you’ve seen demons get _incredibly_ angry about that. Of course, maybe he won’t come back at all; he might get stuck down there, or die once and for all, or maybe he’ll finally lose interest in you (yeah, right). Then you could finally go back to your quiet life of talking to all of two people and feeding once a week or so when you remember.

So you clean up the remnants of John’s body and heal. Rose comes to visit for a day; the two of you spend hours trading notes on everything you know. You found Rose when she was sixteen, when her Seer powers started manifesting. A lot of other things found her, too, most of which you ended up killing. You took pity and told her what you knew about what was happening to her; now, to this day, you still tell each other everything you learn (her usually more than you, seeing as she talks to magical creatures for a living and hears fucking gods in her head or something). You don’t tell her about John, because it’s not important and anyways she probably already knows.

A cute brunette convinces you to have Actual Sex in his bed for the first time in a couple months. Afterwards, you stain his mind until he’ll have nightmares for weeks, feeling mildly unsettled yourself.

One week after John died finds you moping on the roof of your apartment building, staring out at the city and thinking. You really should go out more. You didn’t use to stay at home all the time; you’d go out, cause fights, ruin marriages. It just doesn’t seem as fun anymore, so you sit around in your apartment and make music. You’re distracted by what sounds like something skittering up the wall, if skittering were a word that could be applied to something at least a hundred pounds. Which means...he isn’t leaving. Damn. So much for hoping.

“I’d say it’s nice to see you, but- _jesus fucking_ -” You turn to face him because you’re pretty sure it’s a bad idea not to have eyes on him, only you were definitely not expecting him to look like _that_. John is creeping low to the ground on all fours, claws extended, mouth full of razors, ears laid back, tail swaying. His hair is even more shaggy, and it might just be his _glowing chest_ but you think parts of it turned blue. It’s actually kind of scary- because you’ve seen demons that are twenty feet tall, unmasked and looking like they could wrestle with the sky, but John looks like an _animal_ in ways they never could, setting off this feeling of _danger_ in your stomach.

He keeps letting out these tiny, warped cackles, which is definitely not helping you. Then he swipes his tail out at your feet and you jump back, careful to get away from the edge of the roof. Actually, you probably shouldn’t be up here right now. Not like you can drag him down the stairs with you, though. His eyes keep swirling at you, just a mess of blue as he digs his claws into the concrete. “ _What’s wrong, Daaaaave? Don’t want me anymore when I’m like thiiis? How shallow of yooou! HAA HAA HEE HEE HOO HOO~_ ” He keeps stalking towards you and you back up, nervous. His voice is grating like trying to watch a DVD someone dragged their claws over, jumping pitch and skipping and generally sounding freaky as fuck. “ _I miiiiiiissed you, Daaaave. I’m just soooo hungry. Figured it’s time for you to paaay uuup on our little deeeaaal! Now are you gonna make this easy, and hold stiiiill? Or make it fuuuun?” His shoulders drop forward a little more and all you can think of is the short couple of years your family had a cat, and every time he dropped down right before he tried to claw your face off._

What can you do, though? Jump off the building? No thanks. No getting around this, you guess. So you sigh like this is just another fucking day for you (satan forbid you get used to this) and hold your arms wide. Because you owe him, unfortunately. “Fucking, just get it over with.”

He tilts his head at you like you’re fucking titillating before abruptly grinning and leaping. He never hits your front, though- next thing you know you feel his foot at your back, sending you yelping forwards onto your now-bleeding knees. You get up as fast as you can- pretty damn fast, considering- and turn to face him. He charges, yelling, “Heeeeeeeere’s JOHNNY!” but you just flashstep around behind him, keeping away.

You hate this. Part of you is still holding onto the belief that you’re not in any danger because he’s not going to get off on hurting you (at least, not seriously). The rest of you is all hackles raised at every sign that he is fucking hunting you. Your magic isn’t made for offense or defense; all you have is- you pull at your _self_ , at old magic and demonic energy until wings push out of your back with the noise of both skin and fabric tearing. Your wings- a mess you haven’t seen in a while. Instead of feathers, you have heady orange flowers embedded in nothing but tangled vines. They’re only half-wings, too stunted to fly, but with them come your lesser features; ears reared back, fangs biting into your lip. “I swear to god I will send you right back there. Calm your  _shit_ , John.”

John growls and whips back around, tail carving a few gashes in the concrete of the roof. He stops when he sees your wings, hissing and backing up a couple paces. “ _Do you feel preeeeetty, Dave?_ ”

You know what he’s doing; trying to find your weak points. “Seriously you fuck, what are you even trying to do? Attacking me isn’t going to get you food.” You try to make it easier on him, and it’s not like it’s hard to piss yourself off. He is, after all, fucking insufferable. He’s stupid enough to get himself killed and even then he can’t piss off, no, he comes back and pull this shit. You just want him to go away- you never asked for this. You thought he was _human_. You let the anger well up and just hold, bluffing all to hell like this is a shitty poker game and all your prize chickens are on the table.

Your stand off feels like maybe an hour but in reality is probably less than a minute. He starts slinking towards you again until he’s a foot away and starts circling around you. You try to keep your eyes on him without having to turn, wings flaring up the closer he gets until you have to stop yourself from jumping when he flicks his tail at you. “...Whhhhhyyy haven’t you killed me yet?”

This is stupid.

“What makes you think I want to?” You’re not that much of a murderous prick. “All I want is for you to stop acting like a fuckass. I mean, even more of one than usual.” Your fucking- instinct, or whatever, hate this even more than you do, being constantly on edge. In your experience, being around a jungle cat is never a good thing.

Abruptly, he stops and sits on his ass to blink up at you. “I’m an immense threat to your well being and a general pain in your ass. I’m actively in the process of fucking up your shit and yet you don’t want to kill me?” At least his voice is coming back to normal, enough that you can hear how disbelieving he is.

You shrug and manage to flip shit a little less now that he’s not in pounce mode. “I accepted your deal, didn’t I? Sure, I masturbate to the thought of throwing you off a building, but as long as you’re not, you know, trying to kill me…” You shrug and look away, resisting the urge to scratch the back of your head. He’s right, you should want to kill him. He’s annoying, has hurt you, is of so little use to you. You attribute it as just another reason why you’re a fuck up.

You hear him humming, but because you’re looking away, you miss him lunging forwards until he’s right in front of you, hands pressed to your chest. He licks up the entire side of your face, chin to hairline, before he cackles in your ear and shoves you. “It’s your funeral, buddy! Metaphorically speaking.”

Weirdly enough, the scent of flower nectar fills your nose. “Augh! You _prick_ oh my _god_.” When you flinch backwards and shove John off of you- rubbing at your face all the way to try and get the sticky spit off- your wings twitch behind you, and your own scent kicks up until it’s overwhelming; tangy and supposedly irresistible. When it registers, it drive a little thorn of fear back into your heart until you have to half-reluctantly vanish your wings again. You’re not sure if John even knows, but if you start flapping, the poison will fill up the air.

You stare at him, now sitting on his ass and laughing, to make sure he doesn’t start dying or something. Then his eyes lock back on you and he sniffs, before grinning manicly. “C’mere, flower boy!” He leaps forward and tackles you, and you, for some fucking reason, let him. It’s like, the least awful thing he’s ever done, so you can’t complain too much. You’d rather get licked and sat on than kicked around and clawed at. Your knees and back both hurt, now, though. “Oh my god, you’re like fucking- Cerberus, you know that? Little oversized hell puppy. Get off me.”

He just snickers and leans down to lick you again, absolutely fucking covering your face in trickster saliva. “Sweet.” Before you can shove him off you or something, he growls and licks his hand then _drags it through your hair_. “ _Make me._ ”

“YOU ARE FUCKING. DISGUSTING.” You’re going to have to shower to get all this _spit_ off you- and your _hair_. You make a serious attempt to slap him in the nose, although you mostly just bap him in the head a couple times. “I am going to murder you!”

“Oh yeah, talk dirty to me, spitface!” Rather than, say, running for his life in overwhelming terror, John grinds part of his tail against your dick through your pants, so while you try to shove him you mostly just choke. “I thought you said- oof!”

Once you get back to your head, you shove him again; turning the two of you over so you can sit on his stomach, one hand pressing down on him. “That’s enough of that, asshole.”

He smirks. “Oh really?” Somehow he manages to reach his freakish fucking tongue down far enough to drag it over your hand with a nasty slurping sound. “ _Tasty._ ” You snatch your hand away and wipe it on his chest, getting off of him so you can back up a few feet.

“Hope you enjoyed that, because I’m leaving. Go terrorize some other poor bastard.” You don’t wait around for him to respond; you’re getting that that’s the best way to deal with him. Instead you flashstep down the stairs, back to your apartment; slip in the bathroom and lock the door for whatever good it might do. You look like shit; hair sticking straight up in places from John’s saliva, face red and sticky, and when you turn around your back is all dirty. Your knees and elbows are bleeding, although they’ll heal soon enough. Could be worse, you guess, thinking back to how feral he was.

You’re out of the shower as soon as can be, because you already showered this morning and you really don’t trust John alone in your home. You put on the same pants you were wearing, leaving your dirty shirt on the floor. You almost put it on because now your scars are showing- seven of them. As you’ve seen for yourself many times, the only scars you keep are the ones that killed you. It’s not like John won’t see them eventually, though, and you’ve seen hints of his own- big scars at the base of his neck, like someone tried to chop it off with a dull sword.

You find him in your room, orange smuppet sat on his head and chocolate smears around his mouth as he taps at some of the jars on your shelf- the jars filled with human eyeballs and animal brains, among other things. You grimace at the sex toy. “Where the hell did you find that thing? Coulda sworn I got rid of it.” You always mean to, but never get around to it. That or Dirk found a way to bind it to you so you can never get rid of it.  

When he hears you, he immediately shoves whatever chocolate he has left in his hand in his mouths and swallows it, then turns to you, grinning. “Tucked away in a dusty corner of your closet. What is it, anyway? I’ve never seen anything like it.” He takes it off his head to squeeze it, laughing at its squeaking, then tosses it at you; you grimace harder and catch it, move around him to throw it back in the closet. “See you got all the spit out of your hair. Personally, I think that was a way better look for you.”

“Gift from my brother. He makes them for, fuck, I don’t know, to be ironic probably.”

“You have a brother? And he _sews_?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Interesting. You’ll have to introduce me sometime.”

Yeah, you’re not answering that. You take in how he smirks at you, hands shoved in his pocket, and  then you thump him on the forehead. “Don’t eat my chocolate unless you’re going to replace it, dickwipe.”

“And if I don’t? Just how many stashes do you have hidden around here, anyways? I can smell more...a _lot_ more..” He licks his lips, so slow it has to be deliberate. And sure, it makes you think about kissing him, but you’re still not sure why he does it. Distraction? Eh, who cares.

“Here’s a novel idea; for once in your entire no-doubt long and impressively asshole-ish life, don’t be a dick. It’s just one little thing to respect, okay; if you eat chocolate, buy more. It’s not _hard_ and that way there’s always more chocolate to be eaten.” Seriously. Like, you get it. He’s an asshole, he gets off on being an asshole, his entire purpose in life is to be an asshole, but _come on_.

John rolls his pretty blue eyes and nudges you with his elbow. “Haha, yeah, I’ve heard that one before! ‘Don’t be a dick’, ‘quit being an asshole’, ‘leave me alone’. We’ll see if I _feel like_ maintaining your chocolate stash. I mean, I _guess_ I could just bring some of my own along, but it tastes _so much better_ when it belongs to someone   _else_.”

“Dude, okay, I _get_ it, you’re a trickster and naturally an asshole to boot. I’m not saying you have to stop that because god fucking knows what angels will descend from heaven in a line to high five me and give me the keys to the fucking city before you being a genuinely decent person ever comes to pass. You can keep on being an asshole while _still replacing the chocolate you eat_ , this is _simple logic_.” You rub your forehead in frustration and move away from him so you can flop over onto your couch. “Or, you know, stop coming to my apartment. That’s even better. Speaking of which, can you leave now? Because I, like most people, prefer masturbating without an audience.” Not that you really plan to do so; you’re probably just going to watch lifetime movies for the irony.

The trickster plops himself down on the arm of the couch. “Mmmmmnnnaaaah. I’m real comfortable here. Snooping around a new place is always fun; though the crap ton of preserved dead shit in jars is pretty surprising.

As much as you keep bitching at him, it’s not very enthused whining. You actually prefer not being pissed off, believe it or not. “What? I like dead shit. Didn’t become a demon for the health benefits.” This is okay, you guess. You didn’t really expect him to actually leave, anyways, so it doesn’t bother you when he doesn’t.

You watch as he somehow manages to sit cross-legged on the couch arm. “Obviously. You telling me you became one by choice?”

Your eyes flick up to the ceiling so you can watch the ceiling fan spin. “No? I mean, I became one because I deserved it. I did all that shit because I wanted to.” Said shit you don’t feel the need to expand on.

The trickster hums. “So you’re a sinner demon. Not surprised. They’re the most common. Not _all_ sinners become demons, though. Just, y’know, in case you figured a misdeed would have left you in the same spot.” You would wonder why he explains it like you’d have no idea, but the truth is you really don’t so you mostly just appreciate it.

It occurs to you that this is the most amiable conversation you’ve ever had with him. “Nah, dude. Two hundred people died, I’m not in denial about the reason I’m here.” You’re not sure if you want him to ask what you did or not. You probably wouldn’t answer; not because it’s sensitive, but because he gives off this aura that if you so much as tell him what time it is, he’ll find a way to fuck you over with it.

“Glad to hear you acknowledge the shit you fucked up and accept your punishment like a big boy. I’ve also met plenty of demons who don’t.” Strangely enough, you can’t imagine what he did to be a demon. He doesn’t seem like someone who would, say, kill and rape people, or whatever else demons do to get admittance into hell.

You’re barred from replying or maybe turning the TV on by your phone buzzing in your pocket. You essentially ignore him while you read what Jade sent you and genuinely laugh, texting back a long-winded reply. You love that witch- literally, she’s chock full of magic. Likes to teleport over every month or so, whenever she can get away from her freaky covenmates. When your eyes flick to John, he’s raising his eyebrows at you. “What’s that about? Someone send you a funny cat picture or something? You’re not sexting, are you? I never really saw the point to that; even for incubi…” Instead of explaining, you hold up your phone to showcase an artfully drawn meme frog with the words ‘You make me feel’ layered over it. Fucking Jade.

Before you can jerk your phone back, he reaches out and scrolls up and then _falls off the couch_. You sit up immediately, looking over the arm to see him sprawled on the floor, looking stunned. You laugh disbelievingly. “Dude, you should know fucking better than to scroll up!” What a dumbass. When you check, he has in fact scrolled up to find nudes- which are fucking jokes in themselves, since hers are taken in the ridiculous places and poses possible and yours are usually covered in filters and weird layovers of hipster quotes. “You okay there?”

He sighs like you’re mildly aggravating, which you’re proud of. “Shut up, I’m a trickster, digging up shit to tease you about is basically my number one goal!” He pushes himself and rubs at his back; you rest your head on your arm on the arm of the couch. “You know Jade?”

The look in his eyes makes you feel like you should be taking this cautiously, so you do the exact opposite. At least your answer is sincere. “Yeah, she’s pretty great. Every now and then she visits and we have kinky sex and then go stargazing together.” You’re not even bullshitting. Where Rose is like your little sister, well. The very fact that you have taken one Jade Harley to an aquarium and kissed her under a hundred tons of water and fish says a lot about how you feel.

You eye him warily as he continues not saying anything, until, “Oh. All right.” And really, how the fuck does he know her? You’re stopped from asking by him standing up, looking kind of…lost. And okay, let it be known that you are not a raging dumbfuck. Sure, you’re stupid and naive and ignorant about the world you live in. You have managed to accidentally set things on fire more times than can be considered sane. But you have eyes, damn it. It’s easy to deduce that somehow the thought of her makes him feel like shit; he’s practically fucking wilted. You should just let him leave and get over it. What you actually do is get up and set an arm around his shoulder, casual. “Have you ever watched shitty movies on mute, making up an audio track all your own, all the while stuffing yourself with candy and soda?”

He’s instantly pretty surprised; even raises his eyebrows at you. It’s a relief after how blank he looked before. Finally, though, the corners of his mouth twitch up. “What, you mean a usual lazy day in for me? Hell yes!”

And you really are a shitty demon. You know that. It’s just- you can’t sit around when someone you’ve _just_ found it in yourself to tolerate is feeling shitty over what is probably lost love. You’re not that much of an asshole, okay. So you grin at him and say, “Good, ‘cause that’s what we’re doing.”

 


	4. Two Steps Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy sorry this took slightly longer than normal, I got sick. Also, the next chapter won't be coming out for over a week because Ani's writing it and she's out of town. Rest assured, though; it's gonna be a good one.  
> This chapter contains: gore, explicit violence, minor character deaths, mention of torture

You spend the entire night watching shitty movies on TV- when Lifetime gets too boring for your tastes, you switch to the DVD player and your own movie collection. It’s...nice. You don’t fight. He picks on you, sure, but you’re pretty sure that’s just habit, and you give it right back. You don’t have friends over much; not that you’re friends, you still think he’s god-awful annoying. Still, it’s nice. The two of you pass out on opposite sides of the couch, you wake up halfway through the shitty hours of the AM and move to your own bed, everything’s fine.

Between the two of you, you manage to eat most of the candy in your house _and_ you run out of apple juice, which is completely unacceptable. You wait around in the kitchen and even make pancakes like a good fucking host until he wakes up, wherein you ambush him on the couch.

Specifically, you sit on the arm of the couch and stare at him, cool as a goddamn cucumber. A cucumber that was dropped off a ship into the Arctic ocean. Is that even a fucking ocean? Who cares? Not this cucumber. “I made breakfast.”

You watch as he yawns, teeth abnormally long. You can sympathize; always hard to keep the disguise going when you’re still half asleep. You’re patient while he rubs his eyes before finally looking at you. “Really? Wow. First time an incubus cooked me breakfast after spending the night with them. Unless you’re being sarcastic and it’s just cold cereal.”

He sits up and his face smooths out to human; you stay exactly where you are, precariously perched. “I resent that. I’m a fucking gentleman. It’s pancakes.” Having alerted him, it’s clearly time to jump off your perch and move back to your kitchen. You even set the fucking table, he better goddamn appreciate it. Milk for you, nothing for him because you don’t know what the fuck he likes. You call from the kitchen,  “You’d think incubi would have better bedside manners.”

You miss out on his shit-eating grin; probably a good thing, all thoughts considered, but you can hear it in his voice. “I don’t know what gentlemen you’ve met in the past, but pancakes wasn’t really what they requested for their breakfasts.” You sit down while he talks, stretching to see him over the little half-wall that separates the kitchen from the living room. He’s smirking at you, even has the cheek to stretch until you can see his sexy, sexy abs. You have no problem staring at him. Finally, though, he gets up to join you. “I guess they’re too focused on _in bed_ manners.”

Right. You cover your pancakes in syrup and take a bite while John sits across from you, and you consider how best to lure him into going shopping with you. You’re not even sure why you’d want him to, except for it’d make it a lot less boring. “Any plans for the day?”

He completely drowns his own pancakes. Gross. “Hmm...nah, not really. Probably just wander around the city catching some quick bites and go to some club later once it’s dark.”

And then he snatches your drink up before you even touch it like you’d even give a shit. You half-snort. “Dude, the only reason I didn’t get you one is because I don’t know what you like, so you can help yourself to my fridge. Guess we can share, though, if you’re that eager to swap spit. Anyways, I would invite you to hang around, but I’m not gonna be here; gotta go and replace all the junk food we ate.”

“Yeah, but that’s all the way over there, and it tastes better when it's yours.” He eyes you even while he stuffs his mouth with delicious fluffy pancakes. “Trying to tell me to leave, Dave? Rude. I think I’ll just make myself at home here.”

You roll your eyes at him, snatch your milk back for a drink. “No, I’m saying come with me. There’ll be even more people to trick. You can knock shit out of people’s hands or cover the food in bugs, it’ll be fun.”

You can see that he likes the idea, but is still wary. Fucking paranoid bastard. “Why do you want me to?”

You shrug. “It’ll make it fun.”

There’s a couple minutes where you give up and eat your pancakes in silence, because apparently he’s not going to make a decision, before he finally shrugs and carries on the conversation like there wasn’t just a pause long enough for three cows to be born, “Yeah, fine. But I’m not helping you carry shit.” You grin for all of a second before you tamp it down; you weren’t expecting him to agree. After that, you just tell him _of course not_ and finish your pancakes.

* * *

You don’t even make it to the fucking store. You’re just taking a shortcut through an alleyway- old habit, you don’t like people seeing you if you can help it- when you feel a burning pain in the back of your right leg, making you cry out and stumble to a halt. You whirl around as best you can when you’re injured, as does John. There are six men behind you, spread out enough to block that way as an exit. Not that you could run, now.

They’re hunters; it’s immediately clear, because they somehow managed to sneak up on you. That and you know their leader. You tried to go home with him a couple months ago, and he’d fooled you completely, acting all dumbstruck and enchanted up until he tried to cut your head off. Bastard grins at you now; “Nice to see you again, Dave.” You don’t really pay attention to what will surely be some shitty hero monologue; you’re too busy judging the situation. You count holy water, some tricked out weapons, some normal. If you’re super unlucky (which you generally are), the guns will have blessed silver bullets. “We don’t want you, trickster, so just move along.”

And really, you’re expecting him to run. This isn’t his fight. John just stares them down, though, chest puffed up confidently. “Wow, rude. Personalized greeting for the hell slut here-” Hell slut? Seriously? “and a shooing gesture for me? I’m feeling a bit offended. What do you think, John?” And he nods his head at- himself, a copy hidden behind the hunters. Fascinating.

The other John speaks up; “Definitely rude. Right, John?”

A third sits on top of a dumpster between you and the hunters. “The _rudest_. I think they need some lessons in manners.”

While he’s distracting, you take a look at your leg; it looks like someone just threw a knife at you, taking a chunk out of the side. Hurts like fucking hell and will keep you from running off. Fan _tastic_. You start inching backwards; maybe you can escape around the corner and, you don’t know, die a little slower?

You eye the real John while he grins at them. “Great idea! Lesson one: you attract what you are!” He fucking spins and kicks a trash can at them; one of the hunters whips out his guns and shoots the trickster beside you. The two of you jump out of the way, making you grunt again when you land. Fuck. You can _hear_ his skin sizzling when what is definitely silver hits him. You’re not sure how bad he’s hurt; he just kicks another trash bag at them and clambers up the nearest wall, disappearing onto the roof top.

Fucking figures. You should be angry, but you knew it was coming. You call out, “Come on, Oliver. Was I just not satisfying or something? I’d offer you a round two, but getting decapitated in the middle of a blowjob kind of ruins the mood. You might want to work on that.” You get shot at, too, for your troubles. You hiss and stumble out of the way again, features melding closer to your real self. Feathers crawl over your chest and your teeth bite into your lip.

You bare your teeth at the hunters who dare to get closer, circling around you as much as they can. You’re so fucked, really. Your powers aren’t very developed, if you even have any outside of the standard set. So you let your wings tear out of your back and flare them, bluffing all to hell as you slowly transform. Black scales appear on the backs of your hands and crawl up your arms. Flowers grow in your hair. One of them has the guts to fire at you, but you’re making them nervous.

“You should give up, demon. You’re going to die here.” Oliver calls out to you even while he’s holding his goonies back. You try flash stepping, manage a few feet backwards before you stumble and cry out. One of the hunters flinches and shoots, and all hell finally breaks loose.

Two of them leap towards you while the others hang back. One of them is dead as soon as you can get your claws near his throat, but killing him gives the other time to fling an open canister towards you, and you screech as your arm feels like it’s caught on fire. Holy water. You start flooding your magic out just in case; hunters are trained not to fall for enchantment, but maybe one of them is weak. A couple seem young, at least.

You grapple with the man who burned you, dodging around each other. He keeps trying to stab you- you just try to dodge without getting too close to anyone else. All you can do is keep your claws out and flap your wings, filling the air with the smell of flowers, and slowly, poison. Up until you get stabbed _in your fucking wing_ which- actually doesn’t bother you that much. They don’t have a lot of nerve endings. It feels _wrong_ , sure, and vaguely painful, but mostly you’re satisfied because all you bleed is toxins and the stupid bastard’s now covered in them.

Despite the poison currently entering their systems, the four of them make to attack you, one of them getting...killed by a brick falling on his head. Your eyes flick up and- _shit._  

“John, GO!” You don’t want to kill him _again_ damn it. Fucker’s perched on the roof top, just watching you fight for your life. Well, and helping a little. He grins and waves when you spot him; of course, the hunter’s know you’re distracted, and one of them stabs you again. You screech at the knife in your shoulder, grabbing up fucker who dared to hurt you so you can tear his jugular open, too.

After that, your body just transforms as a defense mechanism, and, well. Tricksters aren’t the only fucked up scary pieces of nature. Your legs vanish in favor of your real tail, a feathery orange thing that is actually pretty normal, considering, except for the fact that none of your weight rests on it. You just hover, slitted eyes wild, and one of the hunters looks like he’s going to piss himself. The remaining two cronies shoot at you, but your eyes are set on Oliver; you throw yourself at him, sending the two of you tumbling as he tries to not die, and you try to dig his heart out with your claws.

You claw deep lines into the arms Oliver puts up to stop you from tearing his face off and he yells, trying again to shove you off. He only has so long before the poison takes effect, though, and it seems he’s hit his limit when he stops trying to stop you and instead just stares up at the sky, murmuring something. You growl and finally feel the sweet success of digging your claws through his chest, popping his heart like a fucking grape. You pant for a few moments on top of him, and then get off. Your arm looks and feels like someone threw boiling water on it. Your tail is cut into, albeit it’s a lot less irritating when it’s your tail. A chunk was taken out of your wing and there’s a knife in your shoulder. You wonder if you can just- yep. Gravity takes hold of you and you collapse onto the ground, groaning.

You find that another hunter has died via brick to the face, and when you look up, John is sitting atop the last hunter, blood and viscera hanging from his face from where he evidently tore someone’s throat out with his teeth. You look at the hunter below and- yeah. That’s disgusting. Poor bastard. John wipes his face off as much as he can on the dead man’s shirt before looking at you, and you lift your hand a little to wave. God, you are exhausted. No way you’re moving, uh-uh.

The trickster comes closer to you and you notice two things: he’s bleeding from his head, ear, and shoulder, and he’s not breathing. Right. Poison. “Heheh. Sorry about that. Gotta use what I got, right? Poison’s my only- uh- thing.” You slur. John ignores you to pull his sleeves down over his hands and crouch, slipping his arms under you so he can heave you up over his shoulder and wow there is his ass. But the important thing is he’s touching you. “John. Joohn, you gotta- fuckng, you’re gonna get hurt _John_. ‘s fucking poison, I’m like a- a- a Venus flytrap- wait, no, wrong plant.” You close your eyes while he moves you, and only open them again once he’s carted you up onto the rooftop, dropping you unceremoniously. You grunt.

You wish you could go back to your normal body, get rid of some of the poison, but you have zero energy. Jesus. You’re gonna die. You’re gonna die, and when the demons see all the shit staining your soul, they’re going to tear you to pieces. Bye bye, birdie. John’s going to die, too, just because he helped you.

John coughs on the ground, finally breathing again, and pulls his soaked shirt off. God, his chest is dreamy. “Haa...haha, c’mon...Dave. I’m fine. Didn’t- didn’t even get any on me. Just need a second to...catch my breath. Shit.”

You make some frustrated whining noise, trying to move your arms enough to scrub your face. No such luck. Looks like you’re just gonna lay here. “You- I cannot _believe_ you, saving my life, stupid fucker.” He _saved your life_. Clearly, he’s either completely fucking bonkers and should be culled immediately, or he’s in love with you. There’s no other fucking reason.

John rolls his eyes and sits on his ass. “I didn’t save your life, I was just killing off some assholes. I don’t like being shot at.”

Sure. Sure he didn’t. You groan again, because you know what you have to do, and finally force your tail to change back into legs. Jade put a charm on you a long time ago so that when you transform, your pants would come back. So you need legs so you can have pants so you can have pockets. Then you have to get rid of your claws, and after that you’re just _exhausted_. You would make John do this, but he’s huffing out every breath like it hurts and looks kind of glassy-eyed.

You dig your phone out and shakily find the right buttons. Thank Satan that Jade answers. You huff, “Hey, babe, d’you know h-how to cure incubus poison?”

 _“Hey, Dave, nice to hear from you! I’m awesome, thanks for asking, kind of busy, but I can always spare time for you-”_ There’s a pained noise outside of your phone, and when you look over, John has dug his claws into his shoulder. Fantastic.

You groan. “Jade, fuck, I’m _sorry_ , but I am literally fucking bleeding out on a sh-shitty rooftop and my friend is going to die with me will you _please_ stop being a fucking _raging bitch_ -” Probably not the best way to get what you want, admittedly.

_“How are you even so goddamn stupid? Like, I know you’re dumb, but how do you not even know how your own body functions? How do you even live your everyday life? You do know how to piss, right?”_

Shouting is hard, but somehow, you manage. “JESUS. FUCKING. CHRIST. JADE. PLEASE JUST HELP ME. FUCKING. PLEASE.” You cough.

There’s a noise like Jade is just _so done_ with you. _“Use your blood, dumbass!”_ You’ve never been happier to be hung up on.

Use your blood. Right. What does that mean? Blood. You’re immune to your own poison, soo...your blood. Fights it off? Yeah, okay. You’re pretty sure the trickster heard everything the two of you said, but you still roll your head his way to tell him, “Hey, John, I think you need to taste some of my delicious life blood again.”

He’s pulled his claws out of himself by now, and he flicks something at you- silver bullet. Huh. Fucking rude, you can barely even flinch out of the way. Well, you could probably move more if you wanted to, but you’re fucking tired. “You lost too much blood already, dipshit. I told you, I’m fine. I didn’t cut any of your stupid, frilly flowers this time.”

God, you don’t have the fucking time for this. “Shut the fuck up and get over here. I can smell you dying, and it smells like _ass_. I get i’, you don’t like Jade- I mean, I don’ even fuckin know why, cuz I get it, she’s kin’ of a bitch and even when she’s not she’s a hard pill to s-swallow-  kind of like you, actually, heh, but I mean, I love her, so-” The fucking. He’s getting blurry. Jesus. “ _John._ Stop- stop acting like a dumbass, and come, come lick my shoulder.”

“You cannot smell me dying.” Still, he drags his body over to you. “You know, you’d be fucking hilarious right now if I wasn’t in so much pain. You sure you have all that poison crap of yours in check before I go sucking on you like a leech?”

You laugh and reach a wobbly hand up to pat his face. “Sweetheart, if this don’ fix you, you’re fucked anyways. Jus’ like me. Fuck. John, I’m gonna die.” Jesus, you don’t want to die. You’ve been avoiding hell for a while, and this is where your lucky streak ends? ”Fuck, I don’ wanna die. They’re gonna tear me to p-pieces, John, cuz ’m such a shitty demon. Who’s gonna take care of Rose? Rose, Rose, shit.”

“Geez, Dave, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were falling head-over-weird tail thing for me, haha. Pet names? What’s next, sweet nothings whispered in my ear? Save it for your victims.” God, he’s so stupid. You want to yell at him that you don’t have time for this, but finally he moves a little closer. “You’re not gonna die, by the way. It’s just blood loss. It’s already replenishing itself while you babble like an idiot.”

“Jesus almighty, shut _up_.” You drag your fingernails horizontally over you arm until a decent amount of blood wells up and unceremoniously shove it near his face. “Suck on tha’, dumbass.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’re delirious already-” He jerks back instinctively and curls his lips at your arm, before he finally just goes for it and wraps his mouth around the wound.

You yawn and try to focus on healing. Not only is your body dealing with almost dying, but it has to fight off the processes a demon goes through when it dies. If you concentrate, though, you can slowly make your wings crawl back into your body to regrow. While he works on lapping up your blood, you talk. “Hey, so, I know you don’ like me, or- _whatever_ , bu’ can you carry me home? Because ’m gonna pass out _real_ soon. Pleeeeaase. I’ll suck your dick for it.” You’re going to need the energy, after all this bullshit.

Finally, he pulls his mouth away and scrubs at his mouth- you wipe your arm off on your shirt. And then he goes and laughs at you, what a prick. “I’ll do you this favor if you let me feed off you while we fuck around. I mean, I would anyway, but put up less of an _aggressive_ bitch fit about it.”

You rub your eyes. “Dunno what you wan’ me to do, man, that’s jus’ how I am when ‘m angry.” Aggressive bitch fits, that’s you.

He fixes the shades that have almost fallen off your eyes and scoffs. “Nevermind. We’ll figure it out later. Why don’t you tell me about Rose?” He picks you up bridal-style and you just snuggle your face into his dreamy chest.

You’re half asleep at this point, but you indulge him. “Rooose. Rose is cool. She’s like...my lil sister. She’s a Seer, ain’ tha’ cool? She’s so smart, goddamn, and she laughs like- it’s so cute, shit.” You don’t really notice when you hit the line between awake and asleep; you just transition from thinking about Rose to dreaming about her.

You wake up when searing pain lights up in your shoulder for a few seconds, making you let go of a pained moan. There’s a blanket in your hands and you clutch onto it. “Hhhoh my god what is happening.” Opening you eyes reveals 1)this is not your beautiful house and 2) this is not your beautiful wife. Instead, you think you’re at John’s apartment with John standing over you, holding a bloody knife that he then drops into a bucket of what you assume is water.

Naturally, he laughs at you even while he presses a damp cloth to the wound in your shoulder. You take in the fact that the lights are off, his hair looks wet, and he’s wearing a shirt again. Damn. “You’re dying, Dave. This is it. Time to follow the light down the tunnel to the pearly gates so God can kick your sorry ass back down to Hell. I am not your guardian angel and you are fucked.”

You fucking wish. Your shoulder hurts like all hell and your leg’s still wounded, although when you look over, the burn on your arm has healed. Your shoulder is slowly knitting itself together, leaving you feeling a little better but very tired. You move and- bad plan, oh lord, bad plan, do not move that shoulder. It’s too fuckin’ late now though, so you continue with what you were doing; throwing an arm over John’s legs so you can use them as a pillow while lazily clutching onto him. “Like fuck I am. They’ll never take me alive.”

And he just. Fucking squeaks at you. You have to look up at that, and it’s hard to tell in the low light but you’re pretty sure he’s blushing. _“Dave.”_ He sighs like you’re exasperating (you are), and shoves you lightly with the hand you haven’t accidentally laid on. “Snuggling a trickster won’t save your corrupted soul now. In fact, it’s probably going to damn you worse.”

“Mmm. Sure.” You just ‘snuggle’ even closer because you’re an asshole like that.

John bops you on the head with...a water bottle. “Here, drink this. You’re probably dehydrated as fuckall. It’ll help your blood regenerate faster, too.”

“Aww, you really do care. Too lazy though.” You are getting dangerously close to his crotch, now that you think about it. Which suits you just fine; you really are going to need to feed soon.

He bops you again. “Wow, I thought incubi were supposed to represent lust, not sloth.”

You’re completely torn between wanting him to be uncomfortable out of revenge and wanting him to get the fuck over himself. “John, stop being a bitch. Seriously. Just-” yawn, “-shh. Thanks for taking me to your apartment. And saving my life. You’re a chill guy.”

“Says the one who won’t even drink some water. You’re welcome, though, I guess. Even if I _didn’t_ save your sorry ass. It was a happy coincidence. Now drink this shit or else.” When you slide your eyes back open, he’s got the top off the water bottle.

You sigh and finally get off him. You’re too awake to cuddle without questioning your own sanity, now. You grab the water bottle and promptly drink _all_ of it, damn- he stands up while you’re distracted. “Let me see if I can remember everything. Attacked, you ran off with your tail between your legs, found your valor and came back to help me, got poisoned, drank my blood, and I passed out. Miss anything?”

He drops the bloody cloth from your shoulder into his bucket and picks it up. “I came back to see if you had what it takes to finish off six hunters. Don’t go getting ideas.” Oh, you have lots of ideas. Starting with laying back down and burying your face in the blanket in your hands because it smells nice. “You forgot the part where you called Jade and begged like a dog for her help. And babbled like an idiot. Mostly about this Rose girl you have a major platonic boner for.”

You tense up at the mention of Rose. Shit, you didn’t want to mention her. “Yeah, well. You wouldn’t like her.” You should really stop talking about the people you like; you don’t trust him around any of them.

You can hear water running as he evidently tries to clean the blood off his new knife in the kitchen. “Really? I think I would. Been awhile since I tormented a Seer…”

You feel like now is the appropriate time to flashstep over- wow, you can do that again!- and hop up onto his counter. You steal his knife to toss it in the air, careful not to touch the blade. “Been awhile since I filleted a sentient being, too.”

Of course, he laughs at you. Stares you down while he does it, too. “Here’s a heads-up, incubus. Threats only entice tricksters more.” Abruptly, he snaps the rag at you, before hopping away with a cackle and a glint in his eyes.

You deadpan at him. You know what that glint means, and you’re tempted to follow; get it over with, get your energy back. You dig the knife into his counter instead. You don’t want to put up with his shit, not now. You can feed off anyone, easy, without having to get insulted and irritated. It’s a quick flashstep to grab the blanket (because revenge), brush your fingers over his cheek (because….Because), and leave.

You can hear him make some inhuman noise when you hesitate outside his door, thinking he might follow you. No deal, though, so you run off. Speaking of deals, this probably violates yours, but fuck him. You never wanted it in the first place.

So you go out, find someone to fuck, and go home. Lay on your own bed with his blanket because it smells like him, tired but satisfied and full and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also I'm gonna go ahead and refer you to our beta Loren's fic [Restart to Update](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4000312/chapters/8984569/), which is utterly fucking wonderful I love it to death.


	5. Interlude: John (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written entirely by Ani and contains no trigger warnings. Fun fact! We finished the rp this is based off of today.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" is an apt and popular phrase created by humans. However, among demons, it’s usually worded a bit different. "Hell hath mercy upon thou whom shalt scorn a trickster". Your kind has always been viewed as lesser among demonkind for not being exceptionally deadly or dangerous. Tricksters are wily and quick and clever. They try to avoid physical confrontations and rely heavily upon their illusions to push their wills. You are really no different. However, tricksters such as yourself make up for what they lack in brutality with sheer, stubborn determination. As you mentioned to Dave; once a trickster has a target, it is almost impossible to escape. Be it a meal, a deal or revenge. Not to be confused with the vengeance so often sought by wrath demons. Oh, no. Tricksters are attention seekers. Obtaining "revenge" is not about getting even for them at all. It is more finding a less direct method to getting their target's goat, in a manner of speaking. It is precisely the reason one must be extremely careful about what they divulge to a trickster.

Dave slipped up when he babbled about Rose to you. Initially, you fully intended to tuck it away for future use. However, when he ditched you last night to go feed on someone else he made his second mistake. The two of you have a deal going. If either of you needs- Hell, _wants_ \- to feed, then the other is supposed to oblige. You have on several occasions. The fact he decided to be cheeky and ditch you, _after_ helping him kill those hunters _and_ toting him back to _your_ apartment _and_ patching him up is, well, an enormous insult. He is damn lucky you are not a greater demon or his ass would be firmly in the fiery pits of Hell right now. Instead, you have a much more entertaining and subtle method for teaching him a lesson.

He wants you to leave "Rose" alone. Claims "you would not like her". Threatens to kill you, blah blah, etc. As if you have not heard such a spheal from various other people. Threats and intimidation do little to deter a trickster. Either Dave has yet to comprehend this solid fact or he was secretly daring you to defy him. No matter the reason, that is exactly what you are going to do because telling a trickster _not_ to do something almost guarantees they will, in fact, do it.

Tracking the girl down is not difficult for you at all. Other demons like to call tricksters "Hell's bloodhounds" for good reason, after all. Scattered throughout the city are higher concentrations of Dave's scent; a little something you are now firmly locked in on thanks to the side effects of consuming his blood. These locations are places where the incubus tends to frequent, of course. After dismissing seers not in these areas and calling in a few favors from various contacts, you manage to narrow it down. A mere day of searching has you standing outside her door. Dave really has no idea whom he is dealing with here.

The sign on the door proclaims "OPEN" in fancy purple calligraphy, which only makes it even easier for you. Upon entering, you mentally note just how heavily Dave's scent hangs about the place. He may as well be here right now. You know he’s not, though; you would be able to tell. It’s almost a shame, since encountering him while you are directly disobeying him would be extremely amusing. Unfortunately, it seems only the seer herself is present. All it takes is one look and you just _know_. Seers have always had this look about them; a way they held themselves. It has hardly changed over the centuries. As you step up to the counter she smiles serenely at you in an all too familiar way and immediately you realize your cover is blown.

"Greetings, trickster. It’s been a long time since I witnessed your kind in person. Tell me, how may I be of service?" She says in a way that makes you feel as if she _knows_ you are not here for her services. This might prove to be more difficult than you originally anticipated.

"Oh, hey, so you saw right through the disguise, huh? Must mean you're legit, then,” You grin innocently enough as you shove your hands deep into your pockets and rock on your heels like a little kid, “I was just kinda bored and figured I'd stop in to have my palms read or my future told or, y'know, whatever it is you seers do.".

She hardly seems convinced, but either does not care or plays along as she nods sagely. "I see. Well then, sir, if you would just follow me to the back room so we are not disturbed...." She steps through a curtained doorway but as you make to follow your elbow "accidentally" bumps a crystal ball off the counter. It hits the hardwood floor and cracks straight up the middle as you gasp.

"Shit! Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I didn't even notice it there-" You start off like a remorseful klutz. It looks expensive, so you expect her to get upset with you. Or at least annoyed. Seers tend to be very over-protective of their tools. Get really attached to the incense and balls and tarot cards. You remember burning a seer's entire deck once. Boy, was that ever a good meal.

Instead, she proceeds to wave you off. "Not to worry. I have plenty more where that one came from. It’s on display in the front room for a reason, after all." She doesn’t even bother to double back and clean it up.

Internally, you scowl, but follow her to the back room none the less. Certainly a tough nut to crack but nothing you cannot handle. The space you enter is small but clearly where Rose does a majority of her work. She motions for you to take a seat opposite her at a round table in the center and you oblige. It’s hardly the first time you have sat across from a seer, so the ball resting upon a cushion in the middle of the table fails to surprise you. Granted, the white orb is so pure in color it practically seems to glow in the dimness, which quickly peaks your interest. You can tell this is no ordinary crystal ball and wonder how Rose got her hands on such a powerful artifact.

"I see you've noticed my favored intermediary. Unsurprising when one takes into account your age." She steeples her fingers and smirks behind them when your head snaps to her with narrowed eyes.

Satan, how does she know? Damn seers. Huffing out your nose, you let her take hold of your palm. "Careful, I'm so old I just might fall to pieces," you joke with her. Right on cue, you attempt to tug your hand back and the appendage pops clean off. You expect a scream or at the very least a stunned gasp but all you get is a raised brow. Your own furrow in disappointment as the illusion dissipates to reveal the reality. No amputated limbs and your arm attached to your shoulder right where it belongs. This is not going well.

You probably should have fed before starting your search, because now your hunger is making you impatient for the desired- anticipated- reactions. Crossing your arms over your chest, you list one leg to cross over the other as well and "happen" to kick Rose in the knee under the cramped confines of the table. She smiles at you and digs her heel into the foot you still have planted firmly on the floor. You hiss and immediately tuck both feet back beneath your chair as you stare her down. This _fucking_ woman. She’s even more annoying than Dave- no wonder he likes her so much. You can almost admire her single-minded determination to take no shit. Or would, if you weren’t so hungry.

However, she has already redirected her focus to the shimmering orb on the table, attempting to enter the trance of a seer. Peeling back the layers of fog from time, space and the ethereal. "My, but you _are_ old. A demon birthed before even Christ himself, if one is to believe the Bible. Growing amongst gladiators and emperors with a promising future... _cut_ short." She _looks_ at you as if she _knows_ and you feel your fangs sink into the inside of your lip because more than likely her abilities mean she _does_.

Not caring if it might be a bad idea, you snatch up the ball from its embroidered pillow and give it a playful shake. "Haha, yeah right! What are you even talking about?? I might be old and a trickster but don't act like you know my past or anything. Hell, I bet this thing doesn't even work!"

She merely sighs at you. "Please, John, put that down before you hurt yourself."

You blink at the fact she even knows _your name_ and the ball slips from your grasp. It bounces on the table once, twice, before hitting the floor with several resounding thuds. Unlike its more common relative up front, it does not crack. It does, however, release a rather vicious blast of lime green energy that sends both of you- table included- sprawling. Little bolts of lighting continue to crackle over it as a chorus of pained groans fills the room.

You realize with dismay that you have transformed. Your human disguise has been ripped away by the powerful magic and you are unable to call upon it even a little. You cannot access your illusion magic, either, to form some shitty substitute. Your confused concern shifts to anxious remorse as you spy Rose laying beneath the table and wheezing quite a bit. _"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit."_ You curse under your breath as you scramble to heave the table upright again. She coughs a bit and works on catching her breath as you help her to sit up. No cries of pain, so her ribs should be fine. Just some bruises; thank Satan for that. "Fuck, okay, I'm actually sorry about that I totally didn't mean for that shit to happen. Hell, I don't even know _what_ happened I mean what kind of orb is that even it felt like-"

She hushes you with a finger pressed to your lips and chuckles weakly. "Dave has told me much about you, John, but he failed to mention how clumsy you could be. Or how sensitive about your past. Granted, I doubt he knows anything about it at all. You truly should rectify that if you wish to pursue him." She smiles at you again and you almost choke on your elongated tongue.

What the fuck? _What the fuck??_ You are not- he is not- _tricksters do not find mates._ Who wants to spend a majority of their time with an asshole that lives by pissing people off? Even you would pass on that awful prospect and _you_ are a trickster. She must be teasing you.

Sticking your long tongue out at her in what is clearly your best ‘okay but who the hell asked you’ face, you get to your feet and dust yourself off. "I have no idea what you're talking about but if Dave's blabbing about me to all his platonic boner-springers then maybe I _should_ talk to him. I'm a _very_ private demon, y'know." You attempt yet again to retract your demon features to no avail.

Noticing your trouble, no doubt via the tiny growls filtering past your lips, she chuckles again. "I do apologize but you will not be able to use your illusions for a few hours at least. Consider it a side effect of tampering with the magical possessions of another."

At a loss and thoroughly disgruntled, you proceed to bare your multitude of fangs at her before promptly absconding from the room. You do not respond to her "Goodbye, John. Say hello to Dave for me." beyond slamming her shop door closed. Ugh. Augh. Fantastic. Now you’ll need to climb the rooftops to get home. Hell, you can’t even go track down a victim to feed off of like this. What did you do to piss the universe off this time, seriously?

Grumbling but thankful Rose's shop is in a secluded alley, you easily scale the walls and head home. Maybe some sweets will help. Scratch that. Sweet’s _will_ help. Sweets _always_ help. You can gloat to Dave about how you drove Rose nuts later. Who says embellishment isn’t a sin?


	6. Come Together, Be Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reasons this took so long:  
> I have a job now  
> I'm lazy  
> There's porn. I've never written porn before (for a fic)  
> There's 78% more content than the average chapter  
> Needless to say, chapters are gonna be kind of slow going, but they will keep hapening.  
> This chapter contains: violence, anal sex, discussions of abusive relationships, non-graphic discussions of abuse

You don’t have a lot to do that evening. So, laying around in your bed, you start putting serious thought into breaking things off with John. Maybe he’ll actually let you, if you just go and tell him you’re done with this, that you don’t want to see him again. Or maybe he’ll tell you to go fuck yourself and start bothering you even more often, who knows. You’re a hopeful guy. Maybe you’ll move back South for a while, get him off your trail.

He just makes you so _angry_. And yeah, that’s the point, but it was never something you wanted. He’s like a leech, an STD, toe fungus, whatever, he’s annoying and won’t fuck off. He’s everything you don’t want in a friend; he has no respect for boundaries whatsoever, he’s selfish- well, you guess he did save your life. A fucking miracle, really. You can’t think of any other demon that would have. Your brother would’ve taken one look at you, decided you were fucked anyways and hightailed it. That first thing, though-

In hindsight, you’re a fucking dumbass.

You like to think that you’re coming to understand how tricksters work; or at least, how John works. He will use anything and everything you give him against you, hurt you and piss you off every chance he gets, and you’ve just given him the score of a life time. So you realize pretty quickly that it’s pretty much inevitable that John is going to seek Rose out. It’s only a matter of time, and you think maybe you have more of it.

You don’t. The day after you nearly get killed by hunters- after all your wounds heal and you’ve fed and feel a lot better- Rose starts texting you.

TT: Your boyfriend visited me today.   
TG: i hate to tell you this but jade is a girl and also were not dating.

It clicks for you, though, _as_ she’s typing, and this knot of dread wells up in your chest.

TT: I’m aware. I meant your trickster friend, John?   
TT: It was quite entertaining, actually. I suggested a means for him to become better pals with you and he freaked out so much that he dropped Scratch.

You don’t really pay attention or let her finish what she’s typing next; instead, you turn your screen off and set your phone aside so you can rub at your (shades-less) face.

You’re going to fucking murder him. Except, well, you knew this would happen. Which kind of adds to the fact that you’re overreacting. Like, you’re seriously pissed, sure, devote some actual thought into how you might kill him, because you’re sure he’s a flighty motherfucker. You know that this is a good bit of your fault though. And anyways, it sounds like all he did was cause some minor mayhem and probably hurt himself, the stupid fuck. Your revenge will have to be subtle and actually suit the crime. The only way to teach a baby about boundaries, after all, is to follow through with the consequences.

There’s only one person you know that’s connected to him, and you don’t even know how. You’re guessing ex-lover, but it could be anything. The important part is that he’s obviously got some pent up feelings there, and you can abuse that.

And so, ignoring your buzzing phone, you grab your laptop and get to work. You got his email earlier, so it’s pretty simple to just go through your files and- yeah, perfect. You email him several extremely explicit pictures you’ve taken of Jade (she won’t care, once you explain it) and the two of you together, thinking of how badly he lost his cool when he saw a couple on your phone. All you write is ‘think youll enjoy these’ and send them off.

It’s pretty damn entertaining to picture his reaction when he sees them, but you’re a little more preoccupied by the thought of how much you hate him. You wish he would let you terminate this shitty deal. Because you almost thought he was tolerable, for a little while, was totally fine with him hanging around your apartment. You even kind of liked it; it was weird to hear someone else in your home, but you got used to it quick and then it was just nice not to be alone. You made him pancakes, fuck damn it. And then he goes and pulls this shit.

Your phone is _still_ buzzing on your bedside table, so finally you pick it back up.

TT: Although, the results were not desirable. Several sculptures were shattered and my ribs were bruised by the force.   
TT: But try not to burst an aneurysm. I really believe it was an accident. I startled him, is all.   
TT: I’m already wrapped up and mother assures me it will be just fine, so unruffle your feathers.   
TT: …   
TT: Dave?   
TT: Dave, I’m serious, it was an accident.

Despite her reassurances, you see _red_ at the thought of Rose- tiny, fragile, _human_ Rose- getting hurt. You would kill anyone for that, _have_ killed so many creatures in the pursuit of protecting her. Seers seem to attract shitty characters like flies to vinegar, and she’s no exception. He’s no exception; you fucking told him not to go near her, and you’re going to make sure he fucking listens.

You strap an old, broken sword to your back and leave, fuming the entire way to his apartment. Your thoughts are a broken record skipping through _I told him, I’m going to kill him, he fucking hurt Rose, Rose…_

His apartment isn’t that far, thankfully, so you have no time to blow up at any unfortunate idiot that might run into you on the sidewalk. You actually stop to consider for a moment outside the apartment building, before you figure that the best way in is just to knock on his front door. Wouldn’t want to come in through the window only to get caught off guard.

Only when you actually get up there, you can hear him shrieking as there’s a banging sound, something like “EwewewEWEW!” You almost start laughing. Either he just found a cockroach or you came just in time for him to get your email. You don’t laugh, though, just knock pretty loudly. It takes him a minute, but- “Sorry, no one’s home! Leave a message at the beep! BEEP!” He sounds pretty fucking aggressive. Good.

You knock again and wait impatiently. He seems to get it, though; give him a minute and he cautiously calls, “...Dave?” And then he growls and you can hear it through the fucking door. Looks like this is going to get violent- which is exactly what you wanted, really. Maybe when you kick his ass into the ground he’ll start taking you more seriously. “I don’t have time for you to suck my dick so go stand on a corner. Or better yet, call up Jade. I bet the witch would love to fuck her concubine some more!”

You had calmed down a little on your walk over, reigned yourself in; Dirk would be proud. Always said that you lost all your chill when you got angry, and shit wasn’t acceptable for a Strider. With one little word, though, the majority of your control kicks to dust. You, of course, are too young to have lived through those times. When stronger demons would haul around lust demons in chains simply because they could, because they were stronger and you are _nothing_ as an incubus. Doesn’t mean you didn’t feel the backlash, though. It strikes fear in you at first, and dread, because mostly you’re called that when you’re stuck in hell. _Shame we can’t keep you as a concubine. You’d be perfect. So good at just sitting back and taking it, aren’t you?_

You’ve heard the horror stories by much, much older succubi. A wrath demon once tried to _force_ you into a deal like that- another reason this thing with John grates on you, although you try not to think about it. This time, you do shove the door open and then you are a quick flurry of movement. You flashstep in front of him, shove him backwards repeatedly until you have basically manhandled him against a wall where you can dig jagged sword edge against his stomach. “Say that one more fucking time, John. Do it.” You have forgotten your shades at home, so it must be very easy for him to see how slitted your pupils are.

Course, his are, too. He’s not wearing a shirt, just some now-bloody sweatpants, and for some reason he’s full on Trickster- probably something Rose did, unless you really pissed him off _that_ much. He hisses at you, only to lean forward and grin. _”Con~cu~biiiine~”_ He licks up your face again and you manage for maybe half a second to push your sword harder against his stomach before he whips his tail up to try and yank at your arm. The little disc slices at your wrist and he digs his claws into your shoulders to push you off. It works; you back off and yank your arm away (hurting yourself even worse in the process, fantastic) but you just switch your sword over to your other hand so you can swing it at him again, growling.

He crouches low and laughs at you, “I knew you were shit, Dave, but I had no idea you couldn’t even fight fair! Then again, you do have that shitty poison trap…” He kicks up to try and knock your blade away, but you curl into your chest and back up.

“What part of _don’t go near her_ doesn’t register in your pin-sized fucking brain?”

He stays low to the ground, watching you. “Oh, it registered, all right. I just ignored it. I’m a _trickster_ , dumbass. _Not_ doing what we’re told is practically instinct.” He sneers at you, but you’re too busy thinking to sneer back. You can see the entirety of his tattoo now, and you think about how it’s glowing, meaning it’s magic, and judging by how he freaked last time you touched it, well. You’re guessing he wouldn’t like it if you, say, tried to slash your sword over the bulk of it. So that’s exactly what you do.

He seems to realize where you’re going and leaps backwards but you still make a shallow cut over the ring of dots encircling his bicep. The entire thing flares a brighter blue and John shrieks at you up until he crashes against the wall from his own momentum. The plaster cracks. He stares at you with swirling eyes like he is going to murder you. The blood that comes out of his arm _sizzles_ when it touches his tattoo. _“Don’t. Fucking. TOUCH THAT!”_ John lunges at you.

It occurs to you that you _really_ should not have touched that. You managed to piss him off, but you’re starting to realize that pissing of a trickster is not really something you should be aiming for. You get knocked onto your back, sword dropped long ago and he wraps his claws around your throat while he pins you. You scramble to get his nasty fingernails as far away from your throat as possible to little avail, and you think, yep. _This is it. I am going to die._

You can feel the tattoo radiating heat but it registers as background noise since you _can’t fucking breathe._ His jaw hangs open and his drool is hitting your face and your neck is definitely oozing blood with the way he’s digging his claws in. You can barely register what he’s saying when he leans further into you; his voice is back to that grating, pitchy tone that is pure demon. _“Gimme a reason. Gimme one reason not to send your shitty ass back to hell for re-training and a thorough fucking or two you sorry excuse for an incubus. I’ve been ridiculously kind to you and I’m seriously starting to wonder why I bothered.”_ He licks up your face again but finally loosens his hand until you can wheeze in some air and the world stop going dark at the edges.

You spend a minute or so coughing and trying to get some fucking breath back in you before you thoroughly swallow your pride. Something about the way John is growling in your face terrifies you, despite the fact that you weren’t really bothered about dying before. You have on chance and Hell knows you’ll probably fuck it up and he’ll kill you anyways, but you have to try. The only thing you can think might work at all is to be honest. “I’m _sorry_ , okay. I didn’t know what your tattoo would do, I’m definitely not gonna fucking do it again. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t hurt Rose because- fuck- she’s practically my little sister, I would do anything for her.” You bite your lip because you feel like you’re going to cry, not noticing that your ears are pushed down as a caveat to your fear. You tell yourself hell won’t be that bad. There’s a chance they won’t rip your soul to shreds.

He keeps glowering down at you, but slowly his (nasty-ass) tongue recedes behind his teeth. His expression twists into something uncomfortable, and you wait. “...like your little sister, huh?” His voice is still grainy but much closer to normal, and you dare to hope you’re not about to get eviscerated. “And just what does ‘anything’ entail, incubus? Would you die for her? Face millenias of torment for her? Sell your corrupted soul for her?”

His question surprises you- hits something in you, too, until it’s on the tip of your tongue. Something’s weird about what he says, but you can’t place it. Maybe later you’ll ask; for now you have to actually think. If you lie, he’ll know it. Didn’t you do the same for your brother? You died for him; maybe not quite so literally, but. Rose is so much better than your brother. She’s fucking pure in a way no Strider could ever be, despite the things that whisper to her and give her power, despite having to deal with you, among a billion other shitty things. You steel yourself when you meet the trickster’s eyes again. “Yeah. I would.” Because it’s more than just that the world would be a shittier place without her- what do you care? It’s already so goddamn shitty, you know that first hand. It’s that you want to protect her from everything, especially herself. You know the path she’s walking. She keeps tipping dangerously close to the wrong side of it, and you’d do anything to make sure she doesn’t end up like you.

He stares down at you, and finally his hand slips off your neck and onto the floor. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief, watch while his eyes stop changing colors. For nearly thirty seconds, there is just the sound of your combined breathing. Then he ducks his head and rolls back onto his haunches. You watch him trace some of the marks on his palm, and you’re not really sure where to go from here. He breathes, “...good.” You try to fill your lungs without coughing.

Eventually, you swallow and ask “Can I ask what it’s for?” Because you have no idea. Obviously, it’s sigils, but those could be for anything.

He doesn’t answer, of fucking course. “How old are you, Dave?” At least his voice sounds normal.

Any other time, you wouldn’t tell him, but it feels like there’s nothing less to lose. Of course, that’s not true- John can still use anything you tell him to fuck you over later. You just don’t care anymore. You’re still getting over being seriously terrified for your life. “I was born in 1823. If you count years in hell, I _think_ I’m about eight hundred. You finally sit up, putting you almost uncomfortably close to him since he’s still kneeling over your lap, but that’s his fault. Now you can really quirk your eyebrows at him and make him know that his question makes no sense.

He starts fucking laughing at you. Naturally. It doesn’t sound too condescending, though. It’s actually kind of nice. His voice is entirely astonished when he tells you, “Two millennia.”

And of course, the non sequitur doesn’t make sense at first. After a moment your eyes widen. “No shit. No, you’re fucking with me. You cannot be literally older than Jesus Christ.” Despite your disbelief, you smile sincerely, because you can kind of get why he’s laughing. Apparently, you’re just a baby to him.

He smiles right back at you, and for once it’s not creepy or irritating or anything. “For once, nah. I’m not fucking with you. I’m about two centuries older than Jesus Christ, Dave. I was around for that whole fiasco and let’s just say the ‘ancient texts’ embellished a lot of shit. Not that I or any other demons around back then really care. I mean, fuck, around that whole B.C. to A.D. turning point I was a little busy doing grunt work, so…” He just keeps rambling and you don’t interrupt because you’re eager to learn literally anything you can from him. Being unendingly ignorant of very important and often personal things does that to you. “Er, well, yeah, You’ve kissed a genuine Ancient Roman, incubus. Give yourself a little pat on the back. Do today’s Greeks hold a candle to _this?_ ”

And then he goes and flexes his arms, only to wince when the muscles of his injured arm protest. You snicker. “You know, you keep sayin all this shit, but all I’m hearing is that I jerked off a dude older than my grandpa. How do you not have age spots, man? Is your back feeling okay? Because I can get you a walker.” You’re grinning so hard by now that your face hurts, and you can’t really describe the way that feels. Can’t think of the last time someone made you so...happy, you guess.

John rolls his eyes and then _pinches your ear god damn it_. “Feeding off the temper tantrums of little shits like you keeps me looking young and beautiful.”

You, of course, can’t really focus on what he’s saying; too busy shuddering all over and biting your lip so you don’t make a sound. “Please stop groping me in the middle of nowhere. Also, you never answered my question.”

He doesn’t look too happy to be caught out, finally falling back on his ass between your legs so there’s a little more space between the two of you. His legs stretch out over your thighs and wow this actually isn’t much better in terms of compromising positions. “I asked how old you were ‘cause I wanted you to understand how old _this_ is. Hell’s a lot different now than it used to be. Things have changed with each turn of the millennium. For example, the…uh, concubine...thing. Look…” You sober up to match him, can’t quite make yourself look at him. It’s just uncomfortable. “I’m...sorry, about calling you that. It’s a shit insult to use and the practice is fucking awful, to be honest. I’m glad it died out near a millennium ago.”

And as unhappy as you are with the topic, the fact that he’s apologizing is kind of amazing. “Wow. So you do have some boundaries.” If your voice is a little flat, well, that’s his fault. He still never even answered your question of what his tattoo does, but you think you’re done pursuing it.

After a moment or so, he’s leaning right back into your personal space, purring. “Am I gonna have to turn that frown upside-down?”

You refuse to smile. “I dunno if you can, man. The doctor said this shit’s terminal, I’mma have to start sleepin in a hospital bed and get my piss pumped out so maybe I can live an extra week.”

He snorts at you and quickly rearranges himself so he can push himself closer and then on top of you, forcing you onto your back whether you like it or not (and you’re not sure yet). “I guess the only way to fix it is to have filthy, wild sex.”

And, well. You don’t _need_ to feed, but it sure does sound fun.

No way are you gonna make it easy on him, though. Asshole doesn’t deserve anything to go easy. “Okay, first of all, we are _not_ fucking on your floor. So I don’t really care if you want to have sex or have a goddamn jubilee, get off me.”

He nips at your neck, and you can’t really stop the sharp inhale through your teeth but you don’t move. “Oh, c’mon. Unlike _your_ floor, _mine_ is clean enough to eat off of.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, the little shit, but still gets up and off you. “All right, Mr. High Standards. Couch or bed? _If_ we’re going to fuck. And by that, I mean _if_ you’re up to it.”

You study him for just a moment as you climb to your feet. The scratch you put in his stomach is healed over, but there’s still blood there and on the waistband of his jeans. The cut on his arm is fucking _blue_ , and the giant circular scar on his neck, well, you try not to think about it. It’s pretty obvious how he died. You wonder what he’ll think of yours; seven bullets in your chest, five exit wounds on your back. You know for a fact that the bullets aren’t still inside you (‘twas not a particularly fun nor sane night you found that out). “Bed. Isn’t it dangerous for a man of your age to be having sex? And with an incubus, man, I’d hate for you to have a heart attack.”

“I was fucking with incubi before you were even born, asshole. You only keep pointing out my age because you’re jealous you’re still practically a fledgling.”

You huff, “Jealous, sure,” and saunter past him, tracing a finger across his stomach while you pass. You don’t miss his shiver. You’re leaking little bits of magic, but don’t bother reigning it in because it’s not like it _matters_ \- it won’t work on other demons.

John’s bedroom isn’t so bad. Decently organized, filled with ornate shit that’s all older than you are like the rest of his apartment. You only know he’s followed you when he speaks up behind you: “I’ll have you know we’re technically breaking this bed in. Never fucked on it before.”

The reminder gets you eyeing the furniture. You want to jump on it. “Hot damn, don’t I feel special. Although, I guess I haven’t fucked in mine, either. I prefer eating out.” Fuck yeah, innuendo x2 combo. You reach up for your shades like a damn dumbass, remember they’re not there and smooth your hand over your hair instead. You don’t think John notices.

At least, when you glance back at him, he’s not laughing at you. Just leaning against the doorframe. “No wonder your diet is so terrible. Home cooking does a body good, y’know.” There’s a leer, at least. You ignore him in favor of flopping face-first onto his bed, and yeah. It’s as good as you expected. It smells nice and it’s comfy and you just really like beds. There he goes, laughing at you. “Should I go dig up some catnip for the pleased kitty too, or is my scent enough to bliss you out?”

And, well. Considering that you stole his blanket because it smelled nice, that hits a little close to home. To distract the both of you, you sit up and pull your t-shirt over your head. “Gonna join me or what? Unless you’re into voyeurism, which I will totally cater to.” Shit if you can’t _at least_ put on a good show.

John pushes off the doorframe and gets a little closer, but he’s not even touching the bed yet. Come on. “I may have watched a few sexcapades in the past, but for this one you’d better count me in.” And then he doesn’t fucking do anything, and you’re about to ask him if he’s _only_ watched.

“Dude, just-” You almost tell him to do whatever he wants, but knowing him, that’ll end badly. Instead, you pull him closer by the front of his pants and promptly pull them down, kissing his thigh because you feel like it (and can feel him shiver). “Just do whatever feels fun, yeah?”

“You realize that’d be me standing here shooting verbal jabs at you, right?” When you look up to glare at him he grabs both of your ears like he’s going to try to steer your head, rubbing them, and you don’t even catch what he says, just shudder and gasp out “Fffuck-” After a moment, you push his arms away so you can stand up and kiss him hungrily.

His arms wrap around your shoulders as you drag your lips against his, and when you half-open your eyes again he’s staring at you. Apparently waiting, because when you see those blues he drags his claws across your shoulder blades and you just press your body closer to him. You moan; he nips your bottom lip and it’s just the icing on the cake. You really like, though, that you can grab his butt from here, which you do. The muffled noise he makes is music to your ears.

You break away when he tries to slide his tongue into your mouth so you can tease him, “See? You’re gettin’ the hang of it,” and then you’re free to nip his jawbone and work your way down. He snorts at you, but it turns into a gasp when you start sucking hard around his pulse point, wondering if a hickey would show up on his skin.

John growls low at you and you lazily push your hips together in reply, bite him so he can’t hear you gasp. “Trying to mark me up, incubus? Hope you don’t think you’ve got any claims to stake here…”

“Just did, babe.” Stake a claim, that is, but you literally marked him, too. “Now why don’t you do something useful and take my pants off?” You keep kissing his neck until you feel his lips on your ear as he nips you, making you jerk.

“Hmm, I dunno...you did _such_ a good job of taking _mine_ off…” And seriously? You’d think he’d want you to be more naked, not less, but whatever.

He keeps biting his lip to hide the little choked off noises you can _feel_ in his throat whenever you brush your lips over the messy scar on his neck, so you drag your teeth over it, talk over his moans. “Want me to do all the work, huh? Cuz here I was thinking you wouldn’t let me fuck you, but that’s what it sounds like you’re aiming for.”

As you should’ve expected, he leers at you. “So maybe I’ve got a little sloth in me.” He pushes you against the edge of the bed, his weight holding you there. “You wouldn’t be the first to fuck me, Dave, but I’m betting I’d be the first trickster to get your dick wet. How about a little power play to figure out who the alpha is here?” You give him your best shit-eating grin, and from there, well.

He tugs at the clump of hair in his hand. You bite your lip, refuse to make any noise, and snake your hand into his boxers to tug this-side-of-painful on his dick. “Sounds like a good time.” He _chokes_ , and it’s only a little hitch but every bit of you shivers. He stops that when he holds you down; disorients you completely until you’re lying on your back, legs tangled with his.

“You sure you don’t wanna just lie on your back and take it like the needy slut you always pretend to be for all your victims?”

You wonder if he’s trying to insult or arouse you. Either’s a bit pointless, at this point. “Ain’t pretending. Difference is, I have the balls to admit to it.” Quip made, you’re quick to push at him until your positions are switched; him on his back, you over him.

“Always good to take pride in your wor- _oof!_ ” His laugh cuts off in a snarl as he tries to roll you back. That stops as soon as you get your hand back where you can squeeze his dick, digging your nails into the bed with your other hand. He falls back against the mattress pretty easily at that, digs his claws into your back. You’re about to quip at him again when he stops hissing to lean up and bite into your bottom lip.

The noise you make is more pain than anything; your lips have already seen a lot of abuse today. There’s blood on your hand when you pull back and rub at it. “Jesus fuck, come on.” You pull your hand out of his pants to, you don’t know, hit him with it, deciding at the last second that pinching his nipple would probably make him stop snickering faster.

“Don’t dish it if you can’t taAKE IT-!” He really should just keep his mouth shut. He catches you by surprise this time, though, and you end up on your back again. You wrap your legs up around his waist, but that’s more of a logistics thing than because you’re about to start fighting back.

He presses your shoulders into the bed; you arch into it just to make him push harder, until you’re breathing heavy again and grinning. You’re rock hard in your pants and starting to _ache_ for it, which means it’s about time for this to come to a close. He seems to think the same thing, because he dives down to sink his fangs into the junction of your neck and shoulder, digging his claws harder into your shoulders and rocking his full weight against you at the same time.

You’re helpless this time when you arch into him, keening. You push your hips up to meet him until you’re dick _hurts_ where it’s getting pushed against and it is _fantastic_. When you can focus again, he’s licking up your throat, having gotten his fill of your blood. He starts tugging at your jeans, too, and you can only say you’re excited for what comes next. Or, you are up until he bites out, “Heh, so do you surrender, _bitch_?”

It has you snarling again, digging your nails into his biceps until you hit blood and trying to flip him again. He just throws his weight harder into you, managing to finally tug your jeans off your ass in the process. “Nice try, _sweetheart._ Just lie back and think of Texas, will you?”

There’s something incredibly hot about the way he bares his fangs at you and pins you down. You’re not in denial about the fact that when you bottom, you redefine the phrase _bottom bitch_ , but it’s been a while and you’re hardcore getting off on the fact that he’s so much stronger than you. Because it’s fucking terrifying and that only makes things all the more intense.

You’re not incoherent yet, though. You actually laugh when he says that, totally fazed. “Oh, _honey._ I mean, yeah, I’m sure Dirk is a lot better at this than you, but have some confidence!”

His reaction is about everything you expected: he scrunches his nose up like he smells something nasty. “No way.” He even fake gags and leans away from you taking the sweet pressure away from your dick and the weight off your chest. You weren’t even aware it was getting hard to breathe. “Ugh, holy shit, please tell me you don’t fuck around with your brother all the time. That’s fucking _sick_.”

You keep grinning, but his words sharpen something in you. “Why? That put you off?” Saccharine sweetness is not something you pull off nearly as well as him. Especially when you’re contemplating if you could kill him from here, if his offense warrants it. Sure, maybe you don’t like your brother all the time, but you’re still very defensive of him. “Cause we sure do. Nobody’s ever fucked me quite as good as him, either.”

He doesn’t even bother lying. _“Yes.”_ Your challenge works, though. Abruptly, he tugs your jeans the rest of the way off, forcing you to stop wrapping them around you, and sequentially shucks his boxers. As if your legs weren’t already open wide, flushed dick hanging out in the middle, he shoves your knees further apart so he can crawl between them. Allowing him to grind your naked dicks together. Your head falls back from where you lifted it to watch and you groan, loud. You try to bite your lip again, but it hurts too badly, leaving you still panting out loud.

Magically, you stop picking at each other. Out loud, at least. It’s a lot harder to be sarcastic when you’re crying out and getting smothered in kisses in turn. He nips your jaw; you tug his hair. He drags his claws slowly down the inside of your spread thighs and you _writhe_ but there is nowhere to go with how hard he’s trying to keep you down. You have to keep a tight reign on just how demonic you go, but really it’s child’s play. Except for that half-mortifying moment when your tail appears and immediately goes to wrap around the both of your dicks where they’re maddeningly pressed together.

He hisses at you and pulls away from where he’s sucking on your tongue- tries to wrangle your tail off him. You’re pretty fucking unconcerned, all things considered; his dick is still hot and heavy against yours and your tail _definitely_ likes the attention, even when he tells you, “Holy _shit_ , slut, try to control yourself, would you?”

You laugh at him, reveling in it, and grab your tail away from him. “What, were you expecting me to be incoherent by now? To just lay back and be _your_ slut? Gonna have to try harder than that, sweetheart.” Your words are only even a little slurred. You even manage to run the feathered tip of your tail over his thigh, just to irritate him some more.

This time, he ignores you in favor of grasping both your dicks together, pumping them slow and _dry_ , until the edge of pain is keeping you from the edge. “Maybe. Would’ve been nice. I really don’t give a fuck if you fight me tooth and nail, but _I won fair and square so let me handle this.”_ He purrs at you and those are _claws_ on your dick oohhh that should not turn you on. That should _not._

“M-most people complain when they have to do all the work. You ever tried BDSM?” Now that would be a fun time. Not that you trust him nearly enough to do it with him, but you can dream. For now, you are in fact pretty content with letting him do what he wants. Especially when his own tail comes into play, wrapping around yours.

You can’t stop moving; trembling, a little. He spits in his hand and smirks at you, like he’s about to open you up with nothing more and you have done that before but you are _really_ not looking to do it again. “If you’re gonna do that then you better be fuckin’ gentle, asshole.” You’re thoroughly distracted when he runs the tips of his claws all the way down your body instead and you think this is the best sex you’ve had in a _while_.

He rubs between your ass cheeks and you’re just fucking tense all over, hoping he’s going to ditch the claws. “Yeah, right, ‘cause I want ass burn on my dick. No thanks.” He drags a barely-wet finger over your hole and you think _I am going to die, this fucker is going to KILL me_.

He doesn’t. Instead, he stops touching you completely to lean over the edge of his bed and pull open the top drawer of his nightstand. You tremble even harder, somehow, a huge mess of nerves and stinging claw marks that will be gone in an hour. He holds up a bottle of lube that you’re pretty sure is apple-flavored. Score.

You nod, because he seems to be waiting for something, and try to untangle your tail from his with no luck. Whatever. There is a little squishing sound as he coats his fingers in lube, and then he’s _shoving his entire cold finger up your ass oh my GOD can you not._

You yelp, paying no attention to whatever attempt he’s making at dirty talk now. Sure, it’s quickly getting warm and you’re getting used to the feeling, but that is _not_ how you do that. You think maybe he’s about to try two, and you just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind: “Oh my god, get your fingers out of my ass.”

John stares at you for a moment, still, then does what you say. The wet drag is weird, to say the least. “What?”

You snark, “Anal fingering requires _finesse_ , dude. Finesse that you clearly don’t have."

His fucking ears droop. “...Yeah, well. Maybe…you should’ve considered that before letting me win, dumbass. Besides, _you’re_ the one who agreed to fuck a trickster. It’s not my fault you expected the expertise of another incubus.” And his words are just barely biting, and you think, _oh my god you giant baby._

Quickly, so he can’t protest, you push him off you and onto the bed. From there, it’s easy to sit on his hips and rain kisses on his stupid face. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. This would probably just go easier and faster if you let me do it.” That is the nicest way you know how to put it.

He bristles at you, bares his fangs, even nips your ear in return for all the kisses, but before he can make some statement defending his pride, you tell him, “Dude, shush. It’s been awhile since I’ve done this, okay, and I’d _like_ to do it myself.” You even bend almost in half to kiss his chest, lick his nipple like the teasing fucker you are. “Just enjoy the show.”

His claws flex against your hips while he considers, chewing on his lip, and then he huffs, “ _Fine._ If you insist on fucking yourself for me, then who am I to stop you?”

And well. You weren’t really thinking about taking it so far as riding him, but hell, you can do that. You grin for him, seeing as you’ve won, and grab the lube back up. Seeing as he’s still pouting, you play it up: “‘Sides, you still won, didn’t ya? ‘M all yours.” He can’t really see what you’re doing once you’ve covered your fingers in lube, but you’re sure you make a pretty picture- eyes half lidded, flushed from your face all the way down to your chest, bloody and bruised and bitten.

He just traces his claws up and down your chest, making you twitch and tense repeatedly. “You are gonna feel so good bouncing up and down on my dick.” You nod, breath hitching as you push another finger into yourself. He evidently finds this a reason to continue (not that you’re protesting): “You’re tight, aren’t you? You’d think you’d let people fuck you more, since you’re such a little bitch, but something tells me you haven’t in a while. And you’re _dying_ for it, aren’t you?” He wraps his tail around your dick and you choke, shoulders curling inwards. Towards him. You _are_ ; he’s so fucking infuriating all the time, but when he finally just pushed you down, instead of just dancing around you like always, all you could think about was him fucking you.

You huff, “Fuck, okay,” and pull your fingers out of yourself finally. He has to scoot up the bed a little more, leaving you to awkwardly crawl with him, but finally you can just- grab his member and line it up with you and sink down, slow and all at once.

It’s fucking weird. Of course it is! You haven’t been fucked lately, and it’s mostly uncomfortable at first but John keeps his hands on your hips, stroking you with his thumbs and you power through it. It helps that you’re able to take a lot of pain and discomfort, and also you’re kind of made for sex. In moments John is impatiently bucking up into you and your head falls back and.

You lose track of words. John does too, it seems. You just pick yourself back up and rock back down on his dick and you can fit all of it inside you like this and it’s _so good_ , and you tell him _fuck John fuck so fucking good you’re so hot_ and he rambles too, that you’re _sexy god look at you you’re so good so tight you’re so good Dave_. You can’t go too fast, don’t want to go too slow, leaving you with a controlled pace of pushing yourself up and sinking back on his dick, fucking yourself on him, until your thighs burn and he gets impatient and pushes you off him, backwards. You fall on your back and gasp for air and he just thrusts back into you, fucks you until the bed rocks with you and you hold onto his shoulders, his waist, his hair when he kisses you and bites your lips and his eyes are bright, bright blue and you come thirty seconds after his hand finds your cock.

You lay there, gasping as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, comes while your head’s still in the sky, until you can sort of breathe again and find him nuzzling the crook of your neck, catching his breath. You nudge him up and off of you, leaving him to collapse on the bed as you stumble to the bathroom. You don’t even bother with the mirror (you are well versed in your thoroughly-fucked looks), just grab a wet paper towel and wipe your own come off your chest, grab another one to throw at John’s head when you come back. He doesn’t even move it until you lay yourself on top of him, making him wheeze.

He opens his mouth like he’ll protest, and you breathe, “If you complain about cuddling, I will castrate you. There is jizz inside me. Just saying.” He clicks his teeth shut and sighs out of his nose at you. You don’t care; you’re not moving ever again. You’re already sore from what was more invigorating sex than a human could ever manage. Sure, the bites and bruises will heal, have already started healing, but _fuck_. Plus, John smells like sex. It’s fantastic.

His tail curls around yours again; you curl yourself around him, use his pecs as a pillow. Naptime. Except wait, wait, you gotta- ugh, moving. You extract yourself a second time so you can find your pants and pull your phone out, before you cuddle back up to John’s side. “Smile.” You snap a picture of your head on John’s shoulder before he can protest. Fuck yes. You really just- love taking pictures of people like this. There’s something magical about two people looking thoroughly fucked (or being thoroughly fucked) that you’re pretty sure you only appreciate because you’re a lust demon, but whatever.

Picture taken, you carefully angle the phone away from John (who grumbles at you “Seriously? Post-coitus selfie? Holy shit you are vain as fuck,”) while you type a suitably ironic caption. _tfw his dick is better than his personality cute tho amiright_ , and then you send it to Jade because you are best buddies and she deserves to know about this. Especially if you’re treading on some old feelings’ toes. You wouldn’t like breaking things off with him just because Jade might ask you to, but you’d probably still do it.

Jade texts you back half a minute later. You promptly sit up so you can bug your fucking eyes at John (“Ugh, what-”). A weird, alarmed noise pushes its way out of your throat. “Why the _fuck_ didn’t you _tell me_ she was your sister?!”

His eyes snap open and he goes sort of pale. He even chokes! You find the reaction very satisfactory, because _what the fuck._ “How- wh-when- what the fuck are you- _do you even really need to ask-_ ” He sits up as well, albeit while scooting away from you.

You continue to frown at him, and no, you don’t need to ask. You’re a couple of demons, and he’s an asshole and he _doesn’t even like you you giant dumbass_. John is _using_ you as cheap entertainment and food. Having re-established this, you wordlessly turn your back on him and shove your face into a pillow and pretend you’re sleeping.

Really, though, you’re thinking about the fact that you sent him her nudes. Wow. You are never telling Jade about that.

Eventually, John lays down somewhere behind you, shifting quite a bit to get comfortable.

Silence. You hate yourself, just a little. You’re just being a bitch, though. He doesn’t owe you shit. There’s a high chance that this is gonna end soon, either with you killing each other or just with one of you getting bored. The fact that you kind of like his company, sometimes, means nothing.

”...she hates me, she wants me back in Hell and our relationship is estranged at best. Telling you would result in jack shit on the positive side of things. I don’t. Like thinking about it.”

Yeah, you really are a bitch.

You move slowly to turn back around and put an arm over him until you’re, yeah, you’re hugging him. “...My brother’s a psychopath who thinks that beating the shit outta me will make me a better demon. Last time I went to Texas, I literally had to kill him so he would stop dragging me back every time I tried to leave.” It’s not like you’re trying to win the shittiest situation contest; you just want him to know that you get it.

John is stock still in your hold; you don’t think he’s even breathing. Then he tangles his ankles with your and relaxes a little. “...guess...we both have some pretty stupid sibling issues, huh? Why...do you keep going back?”

“He’s my brother. I still love him. I mean, we are on good terms? I don’t know, it’s like-” You stop, not because you don’t want to talk anymore but because you _do_ and why the fuck would he want to hear about it? Then again, he did ask. So you murmur, “He’s pretty entrancing. When we’re together, you can’t pull us apart, but once I get away I don’t want to go back.” You feel like shit just for saying that, because he’s your _brother_ and he’s done _everything_ for you and you don’t know if you could even handle it if he just disappeared, but. It’s true.

On the other hand, you’ve never heard Jade mention her family outside of a few reserved comments when you got her drunk- never specifically John, that’s for sure. You can’t really understand why they wouldn’t like each other, seeing as they are _incredibly_ alike.

You’re not sure what John’s thinking about as he curls into you, but you’re sure it’s very important. You’re thinking about Rose, and about what a fuck up you are. A defect. You’re skirting close to where you can’t come back from. Rose makes you want to not be such a shitty person; Dirk does the opposite. If you had the chance to be a human again, just for her, you would take it in a heartbeat and you would be the straightest arrow, the single most angelic fucker on Earth. You can’t, though. She’s going to die someday and you, hopefully, aren’t, so it’s best not to dwell on what can’t be. Especially over some fleeting human.

Another demon, though…

You’re not sure what John mumbles to you. You’re already slipping away to dream.


End file.
